


Damage

by indiefic



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy is the Slayer trying to live life as a normal recently-graduated young woman.  She has plans to go to college, to find love, to make her father and stepmother proud.  Most of all, she plans to stay out of trouble.  Staying out of trouble means avoiding resident morally ambiguous sorcerer, Liam "Angel" Roarke.  Easier said than done when he's her stepmother's half-brother.</p><p>And easier said than done when they have a bond that goes beyond family ties, beyond magick, and beyond either of their understanding.</p><p>Angel is the last person that Buffy would turn to for help - or so she thought.  She finds out differently when a series of events leaves her homeless, jobless and facing an identity crisis that threatens to crush her.  It's just the opportunity that Angel has been waiting for.</p><p>Can Angel make Buffy understand the importance of her Power?</p><p>Can Buffy make Angel understand that Power isn't everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story borrows liberally from just about everyone. There's some Harry Potter, some Witches of Eastwick, a healthy dose of Lisa Kleypas's romance, and of course, BtVS and AtS canon. No lifting, but liberal reworking of ideas abounds.
> 
> I've taken lots of liberties with the Ennis-Brown House, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. The house is stunningly beautiful, but far too small to actually be the monstrous home described in the fic. I'm asking for suspension of disbelief. Pretend the house is much, much bigger than it actually is.

MAY 1993

*****

They almost made it to the huge staircase before they were spotted.  Jenny tried to dart for it, but quickly saw the futility and skittered to a halt, her heels scraping on the highly polished wood floor.  She pulled Buffy protectively behind her, shielding the little girl with her body.  The young man stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest in a position designed to make him appear more menacing.  Jenny refused to be intimidated.  Squaring her shoulders, she glared defiantly at her brothers handler.

Angel is not taking visitors this morning, he said sharply.  He was English, Buffy noted as she tried to peek around her stepmother.  The mans voice had the same crisp edges as her fathers though he was markedly younger.

Wesley, get out of my way.  I won't leave without seeing him, Jenny seethed.  As always happened in times of stress, all of Jenny's fears and heartache morphed into a brittle rage.  Angel was damn lucky he wasnt dead - yet.  His actions were reprehensible, stupid and childish, and he might well be forced to pay for them with his life.  It was all such a waste.  All of that youth and potential squandered on vengeance and avarice.  And if Angel didnt die on his own, Jenny would be tempted to throttle him with her bare hands for the mental anguish she endured on his behalf.  Angel jeopardized her entire world with his actions.  Not only his life hung in the balance, but hers as well.  On the best of days, Jennys husband Rupert Giles had a hard time ignoring her past.  For Angel to throw their family secrets in Ruperts face like this was unforgivable.  Not to mention the fact that Jenny was not only ignoring Ruperts wish that she stay away from Angel, but also bringing his eight-year-old daughter with her as an accomplice.

Im sorry, but youre going to have to leave or I will call the police, Wesley said firmly.

Jenny's hand clamped tighter around Buffy's wrist and the youngster knew that something was going to happen.  Buffy felt power gathering.  It seemed to tingle along her skin, squeezing her with invisible hands.  There was pressure in her ears; the very atmosphere around them was clawing to get under their skin.   Buffy's wrist, where it was clasped in Jennys hand, felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny pins.

I will see him, Jenny said, her voice weighty and thick with magicks.

Wesley stared at them blankly and then nodded like an automaton.  Buffy instinctively knew that her stepmothers use of dark magicks would anger her father.  She also knew that she would never betray Jennys confidence.  Buffy trotted behind as her stepmother quickly ascended the stairs.  She often heard Jenny and her father argue about Angel and she was curious to see him for herself.

The heavy double doors were closed as they approached.  Jenny muttered something under her breath, twisting mightily on the doorknob.  There was a metallic grinding as the lock gave way.  Taking a deep breath, Jenny pushed the doors open and walked inside.

In an involuntary reaction, Buffy pressed her hand over her nose and mouth.  The action was useless in blocking out the stench of death that assailed her as they entered.  Like the pressure she felt in her ears moments before, this smell was not rooted in the tangible realm.  It was metaphysical and wrapped around her malignantly.

Jenny stood just inside the suite of rooms, adjusting her eyes to the near darkness as she steeled her resolve.  Reluctantly she inched toward the massive bed that was the centerpiece to the cavernous main room.  Jennys hand was clasped firmly around Buffys much smaller one, preventing the girl from hanging back in the plentiful shadows.  Angel's bedroom was filled with an oppressive darkness.  Heavy black drapes blocked the early morning sunlight from piercing the weighty gloom.  The only illumination came from a scattering of candles and old oil lamps.

A sound drew Buffys attention to the bed.  It was enormous, the ebony glistening in the flickering light.  The posters were adorned with intricate carvings of demons and assorted underworld creatures.  The dancing light seemed to give them unearthly life.  The bed was mounded high with dark covers, looking like a sea of blood beneath the vile creatures.  Buffy was staring at the carvings so intently that she jumped when there was movement beneath the bedding. Several abortive movements later and the thing in the bed turned to face them.

Jenny sucked in a sharp breath and cursed fluidly in Gaelic, involuntarily bringing her free hand up to cross herself.  The pale husk in the sea of black covers laughed, a violent, dry scrape of sound.  It was meant to unnerve and scare.  It achieved its goal with Jenny, who jumped.  But Buffy was not frightened.  The laughter tore at her heart, echoing inside of her mind. Tears welled in her eyes at the staggering depth of pain in the broken sound.

The creature was horrifying -- sunken, coal black eyes and unearthly white skin stretched over the skull like weathered rawhide.  Jennys hand shook as she crept closer to the bed.  What did you do? she asked in an agonized whisper.

What I had to, the creature rasped.

You didnt have to, Jenny replied severely, her voice thick with tears.

He murdered our mother, it replied.  Would you have preferred I let him live?

Once again, Jenny cursed sharply in her native tongue.  Do not lie to me, she countered angrily in English.  Your vengeance was your own.  You cared nothing for the bitch that bore us.  You did this for power.  You were unwilling to wait, to learn, to follow the rules.  You stole Vocahs powers and now theyre killing you, eating whatever is left of your humanity.

Will you mourn me, Janna? the creature asked in an empty, mocking tone.

You bastard, Jenny spat.  Your own hunger for power will kill you, but youre not the only victim.  I love you, you stupid son of a bitch.  She made a choking sound as she fought to retain composure.  I know you think youre a man, Angel, but youre barely more than a boy.  You deserve more of a life than this  this  freak show you've created out of your existence.

Jenny fell on her knees next to the bed.  She released Buffy, burying her face in her hands as she wept.  Buffy watched Jenny, but slowly her eyes wandered back to the creature in the bed.  It watched Jenny, with a face expressionless as a wax figurine.  But Buffy could sense something within it.  Despair?  Regret?  It did not wish to cause Jenny pain; somehow Buffy knew that.  But it would never be able to articulate that sentiment.  The creature did not have words that encompassed emotions like forgiveness or love.  It was helpless, caught up in a tangled web of pain, both physical and emotional.

Slowly Buffy approached the bed, her head cocked to the side.  As she drew closer, she realized it was not a creature but human.  Or at least it used to be human.  He was a young man, not yet out of his teens but no longer a boy.  Deathly thin, pale, gaunt, he was barely recognizable as human  and yet he was ... somewhat.

He was not entirely human but neither was he entirely Other.  Buffys expression softened at the realization.  As long as she could remember, she thought she was the only One.  But at that moment she was not alone.  Buffy had always known she was different from the rest of humanity, although she could not pinpoint why.  She had always felt isolated, set apart.  But this wretched creature inhabited the same twilight world to which she belonged.  Without fear, she reached out and touched his forehead.  It wasnt cold as she had anticipated, but warm.

As she touched him, he shuddered uncontrollably.  She felt something roll through him and sensed his pain ease.  In the darkest recesses of his dying soul, his icy spirit responded to the warmth of hers.  It was as if a tiny bit of kindling sparked to life at her touch.  Their eyes met and he watched her mutely, his eyes full of wonder.  Her fingers trailed lightly over his deathly pale face as he drew in a deep, ragged breath.  Life seemed to flow back into him with that breath.  The coldness in his eyes receded, replaced by more suffering than a single human soul was capable of bearing.

Buffy slowly grinned at him, pressing the pads of her fingers to the center of his forehead.  She then pressed the fingers of her free hand over her own heart. We are the same, she whispered with a smile.

He nodded, his face reflecting his simultaneous confusion and understanding.  Slowly, they both became aware of Jennys gaze.  In tandem, they turned their eyes to her.  Jennys expression was one of confusion and wonder and more than a little fear.  She wrapped her arms around Buffys waist and drew the girl away from Angel into her own lap.  Buffy went willingly, but her gaze stayed on Angels face.

Jenny rocked her, trying to soothe herself more than Buffy.  Jenny didnt understand what had happened, but she knew something weighty had lifted.  The press of Death had receded.

We need to go, she whispered, rising to her feet and pulling Buffy with her.

*****

Outside on the front steps to Angels enormous mansion in the harsh glare of the mid-morning sun, Jenny dropped to a crouch in front of her stepdaughter.  Are you all right? she asked seriously, tucking a lock of Buffys hair behind her ear.

Im fine, Buffy answered honestly, confused about Jennys concern.

Youre certain, Buffy?  Angel didnt ... hurt you when you touched him?  Her voice was taut, like she was barely managing to keep hysteria at bay.  If anything happened to Buffy, Rupert would never forgive her.  His relationship with Joyce was amicable, but if something happened to Buffy odds were high that Rupert could lose joint custody of his daughter.

Buffy didnt know how to put into words what had happened.  Something transpired, but it hadnt been bad.  Angel didnt hurt me, she answered honestly.

Jenny sighed and her posture relaxed with relief.

Why are you so worried? Buffy asked with the innocence only children possess.  I thought you loved your brother.

Jenny frowned.  Its complicated sweetheart, she said.  I do love my brother, but he ...  Angel has a lot of problems.  He doesnt mean to be that way, but he has hurt a lot of people.

Oh, Buffy said, not really understanding.  Well, he didnt hurt me.

Lips pursed together, Jenny studied her stepdaughter.  Buffy when you spoke to him ... she trailed off.

Yeah? Buffy prompted.

Sweetheart, Jenny said frowning, you didnt speak to him in any language Ive ever heard.

End Prologue


	2. Chapter 2

May 2003   
*****

“Given that you’re  _the Slayer_ , I’m not worried about your safety.  But it does make me wonder why you’re out here,” Angel said, his amusement clear.  “I would have laid odds that wild dogs couldn't drag you away from a party.”

Buffy spun around and felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment.  She automatically curled in on herself, hunching her shoulders forward in a futile effort to disguise her ridiculously skimpy outfit.  She didn’t want Angel to think she had donned it for his benefit.

Of course, hunching completely destroyed the dress's lines.  It had taken her two weeks to find the perfect dress for this party.  It was well worth her time, too.  The knee length black Donna Karen looked absolutely stunning with her Jimmy Choo stilettos and the gorgeous diamond Tiffany earrings.  That bitch, Sunday, almost choked on her hors d'oeuvres when Buffy made her entrance.  Sunday had shown up in some Todd Oldham knock-off that looked absolutely ridiculous in comparison to Buffy's elegant sophistication.  Victory rarely tasted quite so sweet.

Emboldened by the memory of Sunday's hideous defeat, Buffy met Angel's gaze.  The ever present wealth of bracelets she wore tinkled musically as she straightened her spine, her arms stiff at her sides.  She hated the fact that he could make her feel like she was doing something scandalous when she wasn't.  She was perfectly innocent.  But still, she hadn’t been aware that she was being followed.  Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he was skulking around spying.  As usual.

“What do you want?” she snapped in English, refusing to answer him in ShadowTongue.  It annoyed her to no end that he insisted on reminding her of their bond.

Angel laughed in genuine delight, regarding her with no more distress than he would afford a hissing kitten.  “I’m concerned about your safety,” he mocked smoothly, switching to English to humor her and her prissy sensibilities.  “I know how much of a tightass your father is.”  He smiled and it was more than a little wicked.  "Giles is a powerful man.  I'm not in a rush to piss him off.  Yet."  He winked and added, "And besides, we're family.  We have to look out for each other."

With an impudent snort, Buffy turned and walked away, heading deeper into the sunken garden that ran along the back of Angel’s enormous mansion.  Just like everything else in Angel’s world, the mansion was larger than life.  With Angel’s wealth, he could have afforded to have a home built anywhere, to any specifications.  But a new home would have lacked the punch Angel desired.  He liked to make a statement without having to open his mouth.  Rather than commission his own construction, Angel paid an exorbitant amount for an existing property.  Angel’s mansion was built in 1924 by Frank Lloyd Wright and it was one of the most recognizable private residences in California, eclipsed only by William Randolph Hearst’s San Simeon or possibly the Winchester Mystery House.

Buffy pressed her palm to one of the textured concrete blocks that composed the wall.  It was hard to believe that Wright could make a material as cold and functional as concrete seem so warm and artistic.  Angel and his house seemed to be a perfect fit at times.

“You’re my stepmother’s half-brother,” Buffy stated blandly, without looking at him.  “ _We_  aren’t anything.”

“Besides, the blonde," she said, turning and facing him as she pointed to her head, "is from a bottle.  I'm not stupid enough to think anyone is safe with you.”

Angel smiled and let her put several strides between them before he followed at a much more languid pace.  Buffy glared at him over her shoulder.  “Go away!” she huffed, acting every inch the princess.

“If you refuse to acknowledge our  _relationship_ ,” he said, “then I’m forced to exercise my rights as host.  I can’t risk you to wandering around alone.”

She stopped walking and gaped at him incredulously.  “Antique much?” she snarked.  “Get with the program.  It isn’t the era of hoop skirts and fainting rooms.  This is L.A.  It’s 2003.  I don’t need you to watch me you ... you ... perv.”  Her own eyes widened in shock at her words and she automatically clamped her hand over her mouth.  Engaging Angel in a conversation about perversions was the last thing she wanted to do, regardless of how unintentional.

Angel cocked a speculative eyebrow as his lips curled into a crooked smile.  “Perv?” he parroted with ill-disguised delight.

Buffy’s blush increased and try as she might, she could not meet his gaze.  But she did remove her hand from her mouth -- she didn’t want to smear her lipstick.  “You heard me,” she replied with false bravado.

Angel nodded and slowly stalked towards her, his gait more akin to a jungle cat than the successful businessman charade he often employed.  There was so much more to Angel than met the eye.  Of course, Buffy had known this since she was eight.  It was one of the reasons she now went out of her way to avoid him.  Buffy was accustomed to getting her way.  She handled men with ease, but she was too smart to try her luck with Angel.  She instinctively knew that tangling with him would be a mistake.  A lot of men pretended to be dangerous to impress people.  Liam Roarke was the genuine artifact and though she always called him Angel, Buffy knew he was nothing of the sort.  There was nothing angelic about Jenny's brother.  He wasn’t to be treated lightly or underestimated.  But she also knew that to show weakness was to invite his notorious cruelty.  Raising her head, she stuck her chin out defiantly and stared into the blackness of his irises.

Angel looked Buffy up and down, circling her at a little more than arm’s length.  It was a decidedly predatory move on his part, but the willful little blonde didn't cower as so many others had when in the same position.  He knew she refused to give him the pleasure of tracking him with her gaze.  Such a gesture would have been to admit fear.  Buffy had a healthy respect for the danger Angel presented, but she was not afraid he would do her bodily harm.

Angel took great pleasure in Buffy’s confidence in her safety.  There were few people in the world who dared to turn their backs on him.  The knowledge that Buffy, despite her protestations to the contrary, felt safe in his presence, meant more to him than he would ever admit.  Of course, her behavior also illustrated a point.  She could pretend to be the delicate flower all she wanted, but they both knew she was made of sterner stuff – whether she and her father would admit it or not.

“I assume you’ve heard the nasty rumors about my personal life,” he said quietly.

“That one of your girlfriends is a porn star?” Buffy huffed, not bothering to camouflage her disgust.  “It's common knowledge that you're a pig.”

Angel watched her with shuttered eyes, and once again Buffy found herself forced to look away.  “And what about you, child?” he asked in a biting tone.  “Whom are you meeting out here in the dark?”

Buffy flinched involuntarily at his words.  His barb stung, just as he had known it would.  It was his favorite line of attack with her – to remind her that she was an untried girl while he was an adult.  Why skitter around or pull punches when he could bring an adversary to their knees with one blow?  He did not bluff.

“You are looking particularly scrumptious this evening,” he said, his tone lighter.  “I assume it must be a  _boy_.”

Buffy turned slowly and met his gaze.  His face was unreadable, but as was often the case between them, she could sense his emotions and knew he was reining back.  He knew he insulted her with his previous, stinging comment.  The offhanded praise was as close to an apology as he could venture.

But Buffy didn’t want his apology.  She didn’t want anything at all from him.  She burned with humiliation at the certainty that Angel the snoop already knew about her trials with Ford. He was always digging in everybody’s business.  She didn’t need anymore reminders about her personal life disasters, especially not from him.  “Save the compliments for one of your trashy whores,” she snapped.  “I wasn't born yesterday.”

Angel took no offense at her vitriol and his expression turned oddly speculative.  “I know you weren’t born yesterday," he said. "And you are definitely not naïve.”  He paused, smiling wolfishly, “but maybe you’re not as grown up as you pretend to be, Buff?”

Lips pressed together, Buffy remained silent.

“Maybe one day I’ll find out for myself,” he said.

Buffy ignored his innuendo.  She wasn’t about to allow him to entertain himself at her expense.  Despite recent regrettable events, Buffy was not accustomed to social ineptitude.  She might not be the kind of sleazy woman whom Angel found attractive, but she most certainly was not someone to be discounted.  Buffy Summers was accustomed to being queen of all she surveyed, be it her high school or any other social forum.  She was not about to let the drama with Ford lull Angel into thinking that she would put up with his crap.

With a growl, she crossed her arms over her chest.  It was much easier to fight with him than to flirt.  If Angel wanted women, there were insipid throngs inside waiting to throw themselves at his feet.  Buffy didn’t want his favors and she sure as hell had more self-respect than to get involved with a jerk like him.  Angel was an unpleasant, unavoidable fact of her life.  They were forced to inhabit the same social circles and she did her best to endure him for Jenny's sake, but nothing more than that.  “Leave,” she commanded, her expression hard.

Giving her a cold, appraising glance from head to toe, he stepped forward, invading her personal space.  His movement caused her to crane her head back sharply to meet his gaze.  She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth together.  “Careful,  _Slayer_ ,” he said, mocking the title as usual, “it isn’t wise to upset me.”

Buffy forced herself not to shiver at the cold menace of his words.  She had pushed him too far.  She stepped over the line of fearlessness and treaded into the territory of insult.  It was a stupid mistake.  Slowly, she let her eyes drop to the ground.

He accepted her mute acquiescence and most of the tension drained from his body.  He was still standing very close.  The arms crossed defiantly over her chest brushed against the front of his black silk shirt.  Ever so slowly, he lifted his hand and ran a knuckle lightly over her exposed collarbone.  Buffy’s head jerked up and she took an involuntary step back.  Her gaze searched his face, bewildered.

Expression softening, Angel stepped forward again.  He opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent.  There was an odd mixture of longing and anger on his features.

“Whom are you meeting, Buffy?” he asked again, his voice hard.  “Some stupid, frail, little boy who can’t possibly ...” his vision raked over her form, making her feel naked, “appreciate all you have to offer?”

This time, it was her jaw muscles that flexed.  “It’s none of your business,” she said, her voice shaky with anger.

Angel lifted his hand and ever so gently trailed his fingertips along her jaw.  “He won’t last, Buffy,” he said.  “They never do.  You can’t pretend to be one of those insipid creatures they love.  You’re the Slayer.”

Buffy twisted backwards, stumbling a few steps before she regained her balance.  “Fuck you!” she spat, her chest heaving as she stared at him with unbridled rage.  He loved to torment her about being a Slayer.  It seemed to amuse him to infer that she was cursed with the same freaksome traits as he.

As if confronting a cornered, dangerous animal, Angel watched her closely.  “Hate the game, Buffy, not the player.  I didn’t make the rules.  If you would just accept what you are and – “

“I am done talking,” Buffy said in a growling voice.  “Stop toying with me and go play with your porn star.”

He watched her for several moments more and then shrugged, taking a step backward.  “I’ve never hurt you.  I’ve never been threatened by your power,” he said much more casually than the words would imply.  “I have enough sins of my own, don’t punish me for ones I didn’t commit.”

“Goodbye, Angel,” she ground out, glaring at him.

Angel nodded, bowing his head in mock obedience.  “As you wish, Buttercup,” he said in ShadowTongue, “but when Humperdinck gets here, send him packing.”

She continued to glower, not trusting herself to speak as he turned away.  Was the implication that he was Westley to her Buttercup?  Big fat chance.  Though he could probably pull off a fairly believable Dread Pirate Roberts.  She snorted.  The whole idea was, like, completely laughable.  It was just another one of Angel’s little reminders of how interwoven their lives were.  She spent the entire summer when she was ten making him watch “The Princess Bride” over and over.  But then again, that was back when her father still allowed him in the house.

In the intervening years, things had changed so dramatically that Buffy wasn’t even certain how she and Angel ended up enemies.  So much happened when her mother got sick.  The horrible men from the Watcher's Council showed up on her doorstep, shadowing her around Sunnydale.  One night, one of them dragged her out and forced her to stake a vampire.  It was one of the most gruesome experiences of her life.  Between the horrors of her mother's illness, her own adolescence and her newfound role as Slayer, Buffy barely managed to maintain a grasp on her sanity.

When Joyce died, Buffy was truly afraid that she was broken in a way that would never heal.  Her mother’s death was so sudden, coming just when they thought she was on the road to recovery.  The vulture-like Watchers stepped in and were making arrangements to have Buffy transferred to England when her father arrived.  Before that night, Buffy had never imagined what a scary man her usually gentle father could be.  He wasn’t shocked by her status as a Slayer.  It turned out that he was a Watcher himself – though no longer allied with the Council.  Giles informed the Council in no uncertain terms that they best find another Slayer and he didn't care how they did it.

Before she knew what was happening, Buffy was in Los Angeles with her father and Jenny, under their protection.  They didn't allow anyone near her; not friends, certainly not Angel.  Buffy was lost, depressed, overwhelmed.  The Council didn't give up.  Buffy knew that she was putting her father and Jenny at risk simply by staying with them.  Day in and day out, the phone rang, messengers appeared at the door, people accosted her whenever she left the house.  She had a sacred duty, they said.  People were dying, they assured her.  All because she was ignoring her Calling.

Most mornings she would find newspaper clippings of the previous night's killings waiting for her on the front step.  Sometimes it was worse.  One day a particularly enterprising Council goon left a corpse for her.  It was on the lawn, right where she would find it when she went out for her morning swim in the pool.  She could still remember the sight perfectly.  The vampire had torn the little boy's throat out.  It was a fresh kill.  The blood was still a bright, vivid red rather than an orangey brown.  In the early morning light she could see the sun glinting off his exposed vertebrae.  Buffy didn't even realize it was her screaming until her father gently clamped his hand over her mouth.

Buffy couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't sustain a coherent thought for more than a few moments.  School was completely out of the question.  Jenny ended up in the hospital because someone ran her car off the road.  She wasn't badly hurt, but there was no doubt in Buffy's mind that it was all her fault.  Everything was her fault.

One June night, before her freshmen year in high school, Buffy literally took matters into her own hands.

The following morning, all of the harassment disappeared as if it had never existed.  When Buffy woke, there was another Slayer for the Council to shape and mold.  She was free from her sacred duty and her father was more protective than ever.  Rupert Giles never spoke of those dark days.  They were swept under the rug.

Buffy was all too willing to go along with her father's delusion.  Gone was the sullen, flighty creature she had been and in her place was Buffy Summers, ultimate California rich bitch.  Now rather than worrying about life and death, she worried which shoes went best with her new outfit and who would be the best date to the Homecoming dance.  She immersed herself in the insubstantial glitter, leaving behind the pain and horror of her former life.  She used social status like a drug to numb away all of the crushing pain.

She abandoned everything that held any ties to her life as a Slayer.  The Watcher’s Council was never mentioned in the Giles home.  Buffy pretended that vampires, demons and assorted other monsters were not real.  She lived in denial so deep that she eventually began to think it was real.  A big part of that denial had been cutting Angel out of her life entirely.

The scrape of a shoe on concrete pulled her out of her thoughts.  Buffy was so caught up in her brooding that she almost forgot the entire reason she was sneaking around in the garden.  Ford approached her, nearly blind in the dim light, calling her name softly as he crept down the stairs.  Buffy glared at him.

“There you are,” he said with more than a little relief, “damn, I didn’t think I would ever find you out here in the dark.”

Buffy remained silent, neither she nor Angel had a problem navigating in the dim light, but she wasn’t about to bring that up.  She needed to concentrate on the task at hand.  “Why are we meeting out here?” she demanded sharply.

Ford shifted his weight nervously on the balls of his feet.  “I need to talk to you,” he said impatiently.

“And I already told you I don’t want to talk,” Buffy bit back.

“That’s not true,” he said, staring fiercely into her eyes.  “You want to talk, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me how to sneak into the party.”

Buffy clenched her teeth together, but held her tongue.  That much was true.  Ford wasn’t welcome at Angel’s home and she had indeed given him the necessary information to sneak in.  She was disgusted with herself for doing such a thing.  She should have cut Ford off completely, let him think what he would.  But she couldn’t.  She needed answers.

End Chapter One


	3. Chapter 3

"Ford, we need to get out of here," Buffy said in a rough whisper.

"It will be fine," he said, smiling at her mischievously as he pulled her inside the room lined with bookcases.

Buffy tugged her wrist out of Ford's grip as he stealthily closed the door.  Nervously, she looked around, her heart pounding in her chest.  Her nerves had nothing to do with Ford.  They were standing inside Angel's private study.

She had been in the room several times in the past, but never unescorted.  She knew it was Angel's inner sanctum and she couldn't stop a warning shiver that crawled up her spine at the thought of what he would do if he caught them.  "Ford, we can't be in here," she said firmly.

Sitting down defiantly in one of the plush leather chairs, Ford made himself comfortable.  With a wicked grin, he held out his hand in invitation.

Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded by the depth of his ego.  She shook her head and in blatant defiance of his wishes, wrapped her arms around her own waist.  Buffy wanted answers, not a make-up make-out session.

Ford released a defeated sigh and his bravado waned measurably.  As his pleasant mask relaxed, Buffy saw the strain on his features.  Wearily, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Several long moments passed before he once again met her gaze.  "I messed up," he said seriously.

Buffy laughed sardonically.  "Gee, ya think?" she snapped.

Ford's lips pursed into a thin line as he changed tactics.  "Why did you dump me?" he demanded.

"Why did you get drunk at the Prom and tell Cordelia that I'm a frigid bitch who won't have sex with you?" she countered, barely managing to restrain a snarl.

Pushing himself out of the chair, Ford rose to pace around the room.  His face was a reflection of anguish as he turned to look at her.  "What else could I have done?" he demanded.

Buffy's jaw dropped as she stared at him.  "I'm not sure," she said sarcastically, "but telling my biggest rival's best friend about our private life wasn't on the short list."

"God, you just don't understand," he said, turning away from her to resume his pacing.

"Try me," she said grimly.

He spun around to face her.  "Do you have any idea what it's like for me?  I'm dating the hottest girl in the entire fucking school and I can't even get to second base anymore!" he spat, his voice thick with frustration.

Buffy pursed her lips together tightly.  Her chastity was a sore spot in their relationship to be sure.  How many times had he tried to bully or guilt her into sex?  She couldn't even remember.  It was bad enough having to put up with it from him, but then to hear from third parties was simply too much.  "You're a jerk," she said coldly.

Ford smiled.  "So why are you so mad?" he asked.  "It wouldn't bother you so much if you weren't ashamed of it."

"Ashamed?" Buffy repeated incredulously.  "It's my body, Ford.  I have every right to decide who I invite in."

Ford shrugged impudently.  "If you were really so secure, it wouldn't bother you so much that other people know you're still a virgin," he pointed out.

Buffy flushed as she looked at her former boyfriend.

Ford stepped closer.  "You're mad because you're embarrassed, Buffy.  You know this is ridiculous," he said.  "We've been dating for a year and a half and we still haven't had sex."

Exhaling sharply through her nose, Buffy turned and sat down in the chair Ford had recently vacated.  She was an adult.  It was her body.  She had every right to be choosy about who she did or did not have sex with.  Being her boyfriend didn't automatically entitle him to anything.

But moral high ground was cold comfort at the moment.  Ford had a valid point.  They were both eighteen, both adults - and it wasn't like their relationship was fly by night.  Buffy had been pursued by countless guys, but none of them had been able to hold her attention for more than a week or two - until Ford.  And as far as high school relationships went, theirs was one for the long haul.  Ford wasn't simply trying to get into her pants, they were genuinely close friends - or at least they were once.  Her continued rebuffs of his advances had strained more than just their physical relationship.  Their seemingly indestructible camaraderie had crumbled under the weight of dissatisfaction.   Ford was frustrated because Buffy wouldn't have sex with him and Buffy was frustrated because Ford refused to understand that she needed time.  Not to mention the fact that Buffy's father violently disapproved of the relationship.

Buffy told Ford she simply needed time, but more and more she wasn't sure that was true.  Buffy glanced at him.  She wasn't a prude.  Buffy didn't feel that it was morally wrong to have sex, for her it was a personal choice.  She simply wanted ... something more.  She had no idea what.  There was some elusive element that prevented her from giving in to Ford.  Her own life had been irrevocably impacted by her parents' casual attitudes towards sex.  She had vowed long ago that she would demand more for herself and consequently for any potential child.  She needed substance.  She needed ...  _magick_  - as ironic as that was.  She almost laughed aloud.  She actually did have magic with Ford in the very literal sense.

A big part of what initially drew Buffy to Ford Rayne was that he came from an old Wiccan family.   Even though she had pushed away everything having to do with her Slayer duties, Buffy couldn't quell her fascination with magick.  Rupert Giles was staunchly opposed to magick of any sort, but Buffy had always been captivated by it.  Ford taught her beautiful little spells that would light the way on a darkened path or chart out a map of the stars on the ceiling of her bedroom.  They were definitely some interesting times.  Everything had been new and exciting.  She remembered making out with Ford for hours underneath those twinkling stars.  She remembered the feel of his skin against hers, of the power tickling over her heated flesh.  It had been a rush like no other.  They fell into a pattern of magick and make-out.  The magicks always gave a hell of a high that completely lent itself to sexual exploration.

But all exploration, magickal and sexual, had ended when her father found her spellbook and supplies in her room.  Buffy was certain she hid it away as usual, but when he walked into her room, there it was in plain sight.

Rupert Giles' rage was exquisite.  Buffy found herself grounded for two months, out of her father's sight only while at school - where he both dropped off and picked her up.  She was forbidden to ever see Ford again.  It was utterly humiliating and a horrible way to start off her senior year in high school.  While her classmates were all making the most of the best times of their lives - driving their own cars, staying out all hours partying and making memories to last a lifetime - Buffy was sitting at home with her parents and two younger siblings doing her homework and filling out college applications.

When her house arrest finally ended - mostly thanks to Jenny's bullying - Buffy found that her relationship with Ford had cooled measurably.  He immediately suggested that they try some new spells.  While the offer was tempting, Buffy declined.  She still saw no real harm in the magicks they had done, but the pain it caused her father wasn't worth it.  He was the only parent she had left now.  Ever since Rupert discovered she was working magicks, Buffy knew that some measure of her father's trust had been forever lost.  That fact angered her, but it hurt even more intensely.

Much to Buffy's surprise, without the magicks, there wasn't much substance to her relationship with Ford.  Whereas before his touches had set her aflame, now they seemed awkward and rushed.  His kisses, which she would have once given anything to have, were now overly demanding and rough.

Ford no longer held the physical appeal he once had.  The knowledge made her feel guilty.  Ford waited for her while she was grounded.  He made it obvious that he still wanted her as much as ever.  Ford was a very popular guy.  It would have been easy for him to abandon Buffy in search of more accessible companionship while she was grounded.  But he hadn't.  And when she was finally free again, she simply didn't want him with her former hunger.  Ford was understanding at first, reassuring her that she simply needed time.  But time didn't help.  Buffy and Ford were two of the most popular people in school.  On the outside, they still looked like the perfect couple, but on the inside, their relationship was disintegrating.  The further Buffy withdrew, the more angry Ford became.

Buffy wasn't some fragile flower.  She had no problem holding her ground when Ford got too pushy.  She valued him as a friend and despite their troubles, she was loyal.

Of course, that was before he broadcast the state of their affairs to the entire school.  When Cordy and Sunday had approached her with those knowing smiles and then snarkily congratulated Buffy on her chastity, she had been so shocked she hadn't said anything.  For years, Cordelia and Sunday had been forced to play second fiddle to Buffy.  Ford's big mouth provided them with the perfect ammunition they needed to assume her role as the most popular girl in school.  In less than a week, the entire student body was looking at Buffy with knowing glances, laughing and whispering as she passed.  Buffy had never felt so exposed in her entire life.  It was absolutely humiliating.

Luckily, school was finally out for the summer and since she had graduated, Buffy would never have to go back again.  But it didn't save her from having to see those same catty faces at almost every social function.  And to top it off, Sunday and Cordy were both matriculating at USC in the fall - the same as Buffy.  She had no doubt that word would be all over campus before Rush week finished.  Something like that could doom her entire college social life.  Buffy knew that a lot of college guys liked bad girls.  How far was she going to get if they thought she was some sort of goody goody who was waiting on a marriage proposal before she would be willing to have some fun?

Buffy had no problem maintaining her convictions in the face of adversity - so long as it was worth it.  Problem was, she was no longer certain that remaining a virgin was worth it.

What exactly was she waiting on?  True love?  Buffy laughed at the very idea.  She might have been innocent in some respects, but she wasn't an idiot.  By virtue of being one of the beautiful people, she was stripped of most of her illusions very early.  She knew how ruthless life was and she didn't buy into the fairy tales.  And it wasn't like she had Mr. Right waiting in the wings.  Buffy was popular and pretty, she dated a lot of guys.  None of them had interested her like Ford, despite his recent shortcomings.  Was the fact that she was no longer infatuated actually that important?  She had no desire to be a thirty-year-old virgin - which was exactly what was going to happen if she didn't modify her unrealistic standards somewhat.  Maybe Ford was right, maybe this was ridiculous.

She looked up at Ford, who was emanating frustration.  He was attractive with his dark hair and light brown eyes.  He was tall and leanly muscled.  He was on the verge of manhood, but she knew that even as he aged, he would retain his boyish features - the eternal Peter Pan.  Yes, Ford was definitely cute.  Even when he was pouting, which was what he was doing at the moment.

Looking at him, Buffy felt suddenly emboldened.  What would that mercenary bitch, Sunday, do in this situation?  She sure as hell wouldn't sit here and worry about love.  In doing so, Buffy was handicapping herself.  She wasn't about to endure four years under Sunday's thumb.  College would be a fresh start and Buffy intended to start in the lead.  Besides, she was a healthy, mature woman.  Why not get it over with?

Filled with feminine power, she rose to her feet and slowly stalked over to her estranged boyfriend.  Ford's expression changed as he watched her, morphing from irritation into wary interest.  He didn't balk as she pressed her lips to his.  With a sigh of pleasure he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist.  After long moments, he pulled back and looked at her.  "Does this mean what I think it means?" he asked.

Buffy considered playing coy, but decided against it.  "Yes," she said baldly.

Ford smiled wickedly.  He looked at the beautiful Persian carpet on the floor and cocked a speculative eyebrow.

"No way," Buffy said firmly, sobered by his insinuation.  "Not here.  My car is outside, we can go somewhere."

Ford's expression took on a hard set.  "Why not?" he asked angrily.

Deciding against starting a fight, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck.  "I know you hate him," she said, "but this isn't the time or the place for this fight."

Pouting again, Ford met her gaze.  He looked around the room, filled with luxuries.  Not so long ago, his own home looked much the same.  Now, however, it was a very different story.  Angel's private study was perfectly arranged, dark wood and leather, priceless pieces of art and ancient texts.  It looked much like the study that Ethan, Ford's father, possessed before Liam Roarke crushed his business ventures beneath his heel.  Ford wondered how many of Roarke's possessions had been purchased with the money that should have belonged to him - to his entire family.

As Ford's gaze fell on the sketch above the mantle, he shook with rage.  It looked out of place against the rest of the artfully arranged pieces.  It was a simple sketch.  Beautiful because of its simplicity, but nothing ostentatious.  Of course, if one took even the most introductory of art history classes, they would know it was a da Vinci.  Ford knew that for all of his father's wealth, it could never have compared to Roarke's.  The entire Rayne fortune was nothing more than a drop in the barrel for a man of that much wealth.  Yet Roarke hadn't hesitated to ruin his father, to send their entire family into a downward spiral.  For what?  For nothing.  He had done it because it amused him to crush another man so completely.

"Ford," Buffy said softly, pulling him to the door.  "We have to go."

*****

Angel ran his hand lightly over the back of the chair.  Even with Darla's cloying perfume and her musky female scent clinging to him, he could smell Buffy.  One of the perks of not being entirely human.  He knew without a doubt that Buffy had been here with the careless little boy.  He could also smell the lingering fragrance of her arousal.  A rumbling growl disturbed the silence of the room.  "Take care of this," Angel commanded without bothering to turn and face Wesley.

"Anything in particular?" Wesley asked evenly, well accustomed to being given such tasks.

As Angel raised his head, the cold rage in his eyes caused the seasoned lieutenant to shiver.  "Decisive," he rasped with a hard smile, "I want Ford Rayne out of her life and I want it done tonight."

With a curt nod, Wesley was gone.   Angel poured two fingers of brandy into a snifter and sat down in the chair, savoring the scent of Buffy even as it enraged him.  How dare that idiot child paw at her.  Pressing his eyes shut, Angel reined in his rage.  Ford Rayne would be gone soon enough and the field would be clear.

Buffy was not going to slip through his fingers.  She was born for him.  He had waited years for her, patiently biding his time as she grew into a woman.  He watched as her already impressive spirit bloomed into full power.  Rupert Giles did everything in his considerable power to keep them apart, but that too would soon come to an end.  The old man was blind to the hole he was digging himself.  Angel was not.  He simply needed to be patient for a while longer and everything would fall into place.   
 

*****

Out of habit, Buffy handed Ford the keys to her car.  Though she was reluctant to let him take the power position of driver, she loathed driving.  He took the keys, giving her a blinding smile as they slipped into the sporty little convertible.  It was a graduation present from her father and Jenny.  Given that they had been fighting since Prom, Ford hadn't had a chance to get behind the wheel.  He tore out of the driveway, leaving unsightly black marks on the pavement.

Half an hour later, Buffy frowned as Ford pulled the car off the freeway and into the largely abandoned industrial district.  Her father warned her often to stay away from this place.  It was an area populated by the demonic underbelly of Los Angeles.  Any number of creatures called it home, vampires, demons, trolls ... Dark Wiccans.

Buffy sighed as she sank deeper into her seat.  She should have known.  "Ford, what are we doing here?" she asked as he pulled the car to a stop in front of an old dog food factory.

He smiled brightly at her.  "Just wait," he said.  Before she could stop him, he was gone.

Several minutes later, Ford re-emerged, carrying something.  She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers.  Why had she thought tonight would be any different?  She snorted in disgust.  She didn't even care anymore.  She just wanted this over.  Maybe then life could get back to normal.

She didn't say anything as Ford slipped behind the wheel again and drove several blocks, parking in a patch of deep shadows under a bridge.  Buffy looked around.  "Do you really think it's a bright idea to sit in a parked car in this neighborhood?" she asked.

He waggled his eyebrows at her impudently.  "I'm a Dark Sorcerer, we'll be fine," he said.

Buffy refrained from rolling her eyes at his comment.  Ford Rayne was no Dark Sorcerer.  The Dark part she bought.  While Ford had kept most of their magickal dabblings fairly neutral, she knew that his tastes leaned towards the black arts.  It was in his blood.  The sorcerer, however, she knew was complete smoke.  He played, nothing more.  Ford didn't have the power to be a sorcerer like Ethan.  Buffy decided that pointing this out would not be conducive to maintaining an intimate mood.

She watched as he unwrapped the package he had acquired at the factory. "What is it, Ford?" she asked.

"Don't worry," he said.  "It's just a little something I picked up from Rack to get the ball rolling."

Buffy took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest.  Rack was a local magick pusher and Buffy violently disliked him even though she had only met him a handful of times.  Everything Rack touched was dirty.  "I promised my father I wouldn't mess around with this stuff anymore," she said.

Ford ceased what he was doing and looked at her seriously.  "Do you want this, Buffy?" he asked.  "I mean us, tonight, you and me?  I'm not an idiot.  I know you're not here because of your undying love and lust for me."

Buffy looked away.  Gently, Ford touched her chin with the tips of his fingers and made her meet his eyes.  "So we're not soulmates," he said wryly.  "But I do love you and regardless of the fact that you're unhappy with me, I know you care for me too.  We're comfortable with each other.  We know each other.  We've messed around a lot in the past."

Buffy nodded, swallowing harshly.  "Yeah," she said.  She and Ford definitely were not soulmates.  Gee, that was a fun night.  Ford found this spell and suggested they try it.  He thought it would be a romantic way to 'prove their love'.   It wasn't.  It was some serious magick.  Buffy found out later that only a handful of people in the history of humanity actually have a true soulmate.  They did the spell, pouring ritual sand over their bodies.  Nothing at all happened to Ford.  At first they thought the spell hadn't worked.  But then an odd little geometric design appeared on Buffy's right hip.  Buffy didn't know what it was.  The design looked incomplete, like they were only getting part of the picture.  It was a bit of a mood killer when Ford touched it and nothing happened.  It was supposed to do something when her soulmate was near.  Not that Buffy really believed in that.  They probably just messed up the spell and now she was stuck with half of a stupid looking tattoo.  Some day, she was going to have it removed.

"So our relationship isn't perfect," he said with a shrug.  "But it's not awful.  We're attracted to each other and we both know that magick makes it better.  A lot better.  Let your first time be something to remember."

Buffy pursed her lips together.  He was right, of course.  The magick did make the physical a lot better.  Her insides tightened at the mere thought of how good it made things.  So, they weren't lying to each other about the situation, trying to make it into more than it was.  They weren't pretending.  It was about sex.  It was physical.   
 

*****

Hours later, the door to the small, grimy conference room opened and Lilah entered.  Buffy held her gaze for a few scant seconds before dropping her eyes to the battered tabletop.  After being arrested, she called her father, who in turn got Lilah on the case.  That in itself was something of a feat.  Lilah was one of the elite criminal lawyers in Los Angeles.  Her monthly payment for covered parking at the corporate garage would cover most people's mortgages.  Yet here she was standing in the doorway at four in the morning.

"My client has nothing to say, Detective Lockley," Lilah said in an almost bored manner.  "Unless you plan to charge her with something tonight, we're both leaving."

"She isn't going to hide behind Daddy's money," Detective Lockley replied venomously.  Buffy got the distinct impression that Detective Lockley had issue with the wealthier section of the population.

Lilah smiled mirthlessly.  "If you had any evidence, you would have already charged her. "

"She will be charged as soon as we get the test results back," Lockley replied

This time Lilah laughed.  "Right now, you have a baggie of powder which means nothing.  Good night, Detective Lockley.  You can be expecting a civil suit on behalf of my client filed against you and the rest of the Los Angeles Police Department."

Buffy winced, wishing she could take back this entire night.  It was a futile wish and she knew it.  If life had taught her anything, it was that there was no use bemoaning the past.  Nothing could change it.  Best to simply suck it up and move on.  Easier said than done, of course.  She was filthy, she felt like the stench of stale cigarettes, BO and urine that permeated the interrogation room had seeped into her very pores.  Her designer dress was wrinkled and stained beyond repair, and the stilettos were killing her feet.  Without having to be asked twice, she followed Lilah out of the room and then fell into step next to her, ignoring the throbbing pain in her feet.

"I didn't do anything illegal," Buffy said firmly.

"And what about the drugs they found on you?  What happens when those tests come back?" Lilah asked blandly.  Buffy had the distinct impression that Lilah didn't care at all if she were truly guilty or innocent.

"Nothing," Buffy said.  "They're not drugs.  They're harmless.  It's powdered Rodomian Bloodroot."

Lilah smirked.  "This case is in the bag," she said, her mood lightening.

End Chapter Two


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy had almost fallen asleep by the time Lilah finally vacated her father's study.  Luckily, their meeting had given Buffy time for a quick shower in the pool house where she lived.  She was now dressed more comfortably in an old Lakers t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans.  Still, the shower was no substitute for sleep.

Bleary eyed, her head pounding, Buffy stepped inside her father's office.  She avoided meeting his piercing glare.  Sitting on his desk was the remainder of her possessions, the same ones that the cops had confiscated and then returned when she was released.  Minus the vial of bloodroot, of course.  She gave a fleeting thought to how much Ford had paid for the rare item.  No doubt he would be in debt to Rack for quite some time.  Her backpack was unzipped to reveal a Krentavian Orb and a ritual N'Ke'Dve dagger.  Buffy sank into one of the chairs opposite her father's desk.

"Harmless," Rupert Giles said tautly.

Buffy winced, her vision fixed on the floor.

"Lilah is an exceptional lawyer," Giles continued, "but she is only a lawyer."

"Meaning what?" Buffy asked.

"Don't play coy with me," Giles snapped.  "These items may not be on the Los Angeles Police Department's list of contraband materials, but they damn sure are not harmless.  You, of all people, should know that."

Buffy hung her head, choosing to maintain her silence.  Rupert was completely unreasonable on the subject of magicks.  He insisted on treating her like an idiot child where they were concerned.  He acted as if she didn't have a brain in her head.  And where was Ford?  Her stay at the cop shop was cut short due to her father's political influence, but Ford no longer had such backing.  She still had her cell phone.  He hadn't called or paged which meant he was probably still in police custody.  She was more than a little irritated with Ford at the moment, but she still had no desire to see him suffer unduly.  She wouldn't put it past her father to try and use some of his political clout to have Ford held longer than necessary.

"Buffy," Giles whispered, "I know that you know the difference between right and wrong.  So I must confess, I do not understand what you were doing tonight."

Buffy's self-loathing was in full force.  The quiet desperation in her father's voice, the knowledge that she had let him down was almost too much to bear.  She felt like she had buried a dagger in his back, betraying his trust like this - again.

But at the same time, she was angry.  Why did he have to act like she was going to turn into a minion for the forces of evil with the least bit of provocation?  She was a Slayer, goddammit, whether he wanted to admit that or not.  Theoretically she was one of the most powerful supernatural beings alive, but he treated it like being a Slayer was a job she could pursue or leave at will.  Buffy straightened up in her chair.  She was strong enough to handle a little dark magick.  She didn't need to be lorded over like a five-year-old.

"These items," he continued, exasperated, "they are powerful tools for the Dark Arts.  In the wrong hands ... even in the right hands, without the proper precautions they are exceedingly dangerous."

The pleading quality of his voice, the utter despair, cut her to the heart.  Her father was so important to her and right now, he did not trust her.  He was being unreasonable, but she knew it was because he wanted to protect her.  She swallowed harshly, hating herself for what she was about to say.

"They're not mine," Buffy whispered.

"What?" Giles asked, afraid he had misheard her.

Looking up, Buffy met his gaze.  "They aren't mine," she repeated.  "I was with Ford.  They belong to him.  The cops showed up and since they were in my car, I got the blame."

Giles looked at her, his expression deathly serious.  "These items are not yours?" he asked.

She shook her head slowly.  She knew that he needed to think that she had merely been led astray.  To her eternal shame, she let him think that.

Giles stared at his daughter, wanting desperately to believe her.  "I understand," he said.  "Ford Rayne is a bad influence.  You're a good girl.  Go to bed, Buffy.  We'll finish this conversation tomorrow."

*****

Buffy woke to the sound of soft knocking on her bedroom door.  She blinked quickly.  Judging from the light, it was late afternoon.  She rolled over onto her stomach, reaching for her cell.  No new calls. Apparently Ford didn't want to talk to her.  She sighed heavily, the migraine was gone, but she was in no mood for visitors, especially the kind who would enter the pool house and head up to her bedroom without an invitation.   She smacked her lips distastefully.  She needed another shower and a change of clothes.  She had collapsed onto her bed fully dressed.  "Go away," she grouched.

Hearing the door open, she buried her head under the pillow.  The bed shifted as Jenny sat down at the foot.  Lightly, she touched Buffy's leg.  "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

"No," Buffy replied ruefully.  She was disgusted with herself for being utterly spineless.

"I won't pretend to understand all of the specifics of last night," Jenny said.  "But I'm sure you had your reasons."

Buffy was reminded of how much she adored her stepmother.  Her parents' brief affair ended long before Buffy was born.  Rupert Giles found true love and married Jenny when Buffy was a toddler, living in Sunnydale with her mother, Joyce.  Buffy had spent every summer with Jenny and her dad in Los Angeles and enjoyed it immensely.  Life was comfortable and sedate, filled with predictable happenings and love.

After the turbulent times of her Calling or her mother's death, Buffy had been lost.  Alone, either of those events would have been overwhelming, but together they almost crippled Buffy permanently.  During those dark days Jenny was a great source of support and love.  She was indispensable as Buffy adjusted to a new existence.

Sitting up in bed, Buffy scooted back so she was leaning against the headboard.  She rubbed her eyes wearily.  "I didn't do anything wrong," she said.

"Of course not," Jenny replied, as if it should be painfully obvious to everyone.

Buffy smiled and looked at her stepmother.  Jenny was beautiful, her dark hair pulled back in a flattering style.  You would never know by looking at her that she had two small children.  There was nothing frayed or frazzled about her appearance.  Buffy knew from experience what a feat this was.  Twenty minutes alone with her two stepsiblings, Dawn and Xander, was enough to drive anyone insane, but Jenny had an unflappable calm.

"Is Dad mad?" Buffy asked.

"Rupert is upset," Jenny conceded, "but he'll get over it.  You may be  _his_  child, but you're not  _a_  child.  Being an adult means making decisions, even if some of them don't have positive consequences."

Buffy nodded, looking out the window at the quickly fading light.  Jenny had left a good deal unsaid.  It was no secret that she did not share her husband's views about what was and was not appropriate for Buffy.  Jenny felt that Rupert was smothering the girl with all of his "protection", denying her the opportunity to know the Slayer side of herself.  But Jenny lost that argument long ago.

"About last night ..." Jenny began.

"I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said wearily.  "I didn't do anything illegal.  The cops picked me up because they thought I had drugs.  They'll test the stuff and see that it's harmless.  I have nothing to hide.  Dad may not have approved of my actions, but they weren't wrong."

Jenny took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I will admit that Rupert tends to get a bit overzealous where magicks are concerned," she said.  There was more than a little bitterness in Jenny's voice and Buffy knew why.  When Jenny married Rupert, she abandoned her family magick.  Buffy knew it hadn't been an easy decision.  The magicks had been passed down from one generation to the next for centuries.  But ultimately Jenny was forced into a decision and love won out.  Buffy had never been given a similar choice about being the Slayer.

"Those items can be dangerous, "Jenny continued.  "As I said, I'm sure you had your reasons, but I seriously suspect that it has a lot to do with Ford Rayne ... Buffy, your father and I discussed it and we have never trusted him or his family.  We were thrilled when you two stopped seeing each other this spring.  But now -"

"You and Dad are discussing my love life?" Buffy asked quietly, stiffening her spine.  Her face betrayed her incredulity.

With a chastising look, Jenny said, "Of course we are concerned about your love life, Buffy.  You are our daughter.  We worry.  We're concerned that he's not good for you."

Buffy pursed her lips into a thin line as she glared at her stepmother.  "I see," she said.  "You and Dad think that I'm incapable of deciding who is and is not good for me."

"That is not what I said," Jenny replied, becoming slightly ruffled.  "If you were involved with any other boy, it wouldn't be an issue, but in light of what happened with Ethan ... Buffy, Ford isn't in a good mental place right now.  He has a lot of anger and pain.  We are concerned that he is not well intentioned.  Given my connection to Angel, Rupert and I are worried that Ford may be trying to use you -"

It was too much for Buffy to take.  For far too long, Rupert and Jenny had treated her like a child - and she had gladly let them.  She thought it was easier than letting them see the unvarnished truth of the adult into which she was growing.  But it wasn't easier.  It was harder.  And every lie she told them, every untruth she let them believe made her into more of a caricature of herself.  She couldn't do it.  Not anymore.  She couldn't keep hiding behind the "good girl led astray" ruse.  It was time they saw her as an adult, capable of making her own decisions.  She didn't need to be protected.  "Ford isn't using me," Buffy interrupted her voice calm, but leaving no room for argument, "I'm using him."

Jenny gave a startled look to her stepdaughter.  She frowned.  "Buffy, I seriously doubt that you are capable of using Ford -"

"Because I'm such a good little girl?" Buffy asked baldly.  "I was going to have sex with him, Jenny.  He suggested the magicks, but I agreed.  If the cops hadn't shown up, we would have gotten high on Dark Magicks and then screwed in my car."

Jenny stared blankly at her stepdaughter.  " _Well_ ," she said, and then looked away.

Buffy watched her deal with the implications of what she had just said.  To her credit, Jenny seemed spun, but recovered quickly.  When her eyes once again met Buffy's, there was something in them, a sort of understanding.  Buffy felt like for the first time that Jenny was seeing her for who she really was.

Jenny smiled gently.  "I suppose we have tried to keep you our little girl," she said ruefully.  "I'm sorry if you felt that we expected you to be a particular type of person."

"You're not disappointed?" Buffy asked, bracing herself for the answer.

Jenny looked straight into her eyes and said, "You are an amazing young woman, Buffy, and I will love you no matter what.  But you don't need your father and me trying to run your life.  You need to live it yourself."  Her lips pursed together and she added, "I trust you, Buffy, and I hope that you learn to trust yourself, to realize how much you are worth.  Self-respect is something easily lost and very difficult to get back."

Chagrinned, Buffy nodded, but slowly a smile crept over her features.  Jenny held up a finger of caution.  "Not so fast," she said.  "I speak only for myself.  Your father still wants to talk to you."

Buffy's smile faded.  They both knew that Rupert would not take the news well.  Boldly, she stood up.  She needed to have a very serious conversation with her father.  It wasn't going to be easy, but the longer she let this situation continue, the harder it would be.  With a little reluctance, she put one foot in front of the other.  All too soon, she was inside the main house and headed for her father's study.  She paused outside the doors to collect herself.  She had no intention of backing down, but it didn't make her anxious to fight with her father.  She knew he only wanted to protect her.

Buffy took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the doors to her father's study.  Yes, she had gladly jumped into her new superficial existence.  She allowed her father to treat her like a helpless little girl because it was so much easier than being responsible for her own actions - or her own inaction.

But like it or not, Buffy knew she was a Slayer.  No, not  _the_  Slayer, but still  _a_  Slayer.  Of course, the girl they found to replace her only lasted a few months on the job.  The one after her was doing better, but still, her days were numbered.  Buffy knew she was being a coward by allowing them to fight in her place, but up until now she had been too weak to do anything else.  But more and more, the guilt was preying on her conscience.

Maybe it was her father's insistence that she couldn't handle magicks - hell maybe it was Angel's insistence on calling her "Slayer", but Buffy knew that something had to change.  She couldn't continue to hide behind her father, to shirk her responsibility.

When Buffy entered the room, Giles was seated at his desk studying one of his myriad dusty, old tomes.  He looked up and slowly removed his glasses as he gestured towards a chair.  Buffy shook her head, preferring to stand.  Rupert shrugged and leaned back in his chair, studying his daughter.

"Jenny has advised me against issuing rash edicts," he said dryly.

Buffy nodded.  "Sounds like a plan to me," she said.

Giles frowned severely.  "Do not take that flip tone with me," he admonished.

Buffy looked at him from beneath her lashes.  "Yes, sir," she mumbled.

Somewhat placated, Giles took a deep breath.  "I trust you, Buffy," he said seriously.  "I know we discussed it last night, but frankly, I am beside myself about your behavior.  Those artifacts are extremely powerful tools for the Dark Arts.  I definitely understand the lure of darkness, but I also trust you to make the right decision."

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"On the matter of Ford Rayne, however," Giles said dryly.  "I will not defer to your judgment.  In you, I have complete faith.  I would not trust him any farther than I could throw him.  I do not want you to see that boy again."

Buffy met her father's gaze.  This was not going to be enjoyable.  "I know that you are worried about me," she said.  "But I am an adult."

Giles bristled visibly at her tone.  "An adult who is living under my roof," he noted harshly.

Buffy recoiled as if he had slapped her.  Her expression was hard as she said, "Under your thumb, you mean."

Giles studied his daughter's defiant countenance for long moments.  "You are an adult," he said with absolute seriousness, "but you are still living in my house, eating my food, driving the car I gave you.  This is your home, but there are limits.  I will not condone your meddling with Dark Arts.  And you will not, under any circumstances, see Ford again.  These are my rules."

Buffy looked at the hard set of her father's features, at the rigid line of his spine.  She knew him well.  She knew that there was no chance of him relenting.  When Rupert Giles made up his mind, there was no changing it.  But she couldn't live with his rules.  Not any more.  He was right, it was his home, his money and he was free to place whatever stipulations he felt necessary over those domains.  But she also realized that she could no longer live with his law ... or him.  "Fine," she said plainly, "then I'll leave."

"And go where?" Giles demanded.  "You don't have any money of your own.  You don't have an apartment.  You don't have a job."

Buffy looked at her father and sadness threatened to overwhelm her.  She knew that he only wanted to protect her, but it did not keep the collar from chafing.  She was an adult and he refused to see her as such.  "I love you," she said.  "But I can't be your little girl forever.  I am an adult.  I have to make my own decisions, even if they aren't always the right ones.  I'm not proud of my actions last night, but I do defend my right to make that mistake."

Giles stared at her incredulously, realizing for the first time that she truly did intend to leave.  While he heard her words and could mentally understand her reasoning, in his heart it made no sense.  She was not merely growing up, she was rejecting him, rejecting everything that he had done for her.  "You're not going anywhere," he said.

Buffy shrugged.  "You can't stop me," she said.  "I'm leaving."

In a panic, Giles yelled, "I'm your father, Buffy.  I'm your source of food and shelter.  I'm paying for your schooling. You cannot survive without me.  You will go to your room."

Buffy stared at him as if he were a stranger.  He was honestly trying to treat her like a child.  Did he not have any more faith than that in her?  She was unable to speak as she looked at him.  Turning on her heel, she walked blindly out of his office.

Buffy was numb as she returned to the pool house, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, clouding her vision.  Luckily, she knew the way well enough that it wasn't a problem despite the fact that it was now dark and she couldn't really see through her tears.  Once again, this was her fault.  Three years ago, she was too weak to deal with life.  She let him step in and take care of things for her, take care of everything.  Now, he was so used to doing for her that he truly thought she was incapable.  His lack of confidence hurt and angered her, but more than that, it shamed her.  He thought she was incapable because for far too long she had let him believe that.

Her numbness melted into a mixture of determination and anger.  She would show her father just how capable she was of running her own life.  Hurriedly, she threw things into two large duffel bags, mindless of the sobs issuing from her throat and the tears on her cheeks.  Clothes, pictures, her mother's jewelry, stuffed animals; all of it got piled in a formless heap.  The bags were so full she could barely get them zipped, but somehow she managed, throwing them over her shoulders.  She exited her little bungalow, locking the door behind herself as she carefully skirted around the pool.  The main house's patio doors were open and she slipped inside as gracefully as her cargo would allow.  It was quiet and as stealthily as possible, she headed for the front door.  As her father had so eloquently pointed out, the car was his, so she couldn't take it.  She pulled her keys out of her pocket and threw them on an end table.  She wouldn't be coming back.  She didn't need her keys.

Blindly, she tore open the door and rushed headlong down the steps.  Immediately, she crashed into someone and her momentum sent her tumbling down the steps to land in a pile on the sidewalk.  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Buffy said frantically.  Wonderful way to start her brand new life.  She brushed the hair out of her eyes, glancing up at her victim.

Her anxiety vanished as if it had never existed while her face settled into a frown.  "Oh, it's you," she said dryly, thoroughly disgusted with herself for apologizing.  She wiped self-consciously at her wet cheeks with the back of her hands. She had no desire for him - of all people - to see her crying.

Angel looked down at the heap of tangled limbs and duffel bags in the middle of the sidewalk.  He knew better than to offer the hellcat a hand up.  "It's wonderful to see you as well," he replied with an amused smirk.

With a growl, Buffy rose unassisted to her feet and brushed off her clothes.  "My father is home, just so you know," she snapped.  "He cancelled his business trip."  Liam Roarke was one of Rupert Giles' least favorite people on the planet.  Giles tolerated him because the arrogant young mogul was his beloved wife's half-brother.  But there was no love lost between the two men and more often than not, there were open hostilities.

Angel watched Buffy gather up the overstuffed bags, trying to balance them without much success.  He sighed.  "Ionuin," he asked with more than a little amusement, "where are you going?"

Buffy turned to glare at him.  Angel and Jenny often had conversations in Gaelic, but Buffy never managed to learn a word of the language.  She had no idea what his pet name for her meant, but she knew it couldn't be flattering.  He had been calling her "Ionuin" for years. She was fairly certain it meant "monkey" or "pest" or "flat-chested wench."

"It's none of your damn business," Buffy hissed in ShadowTongue, far too upset to concentrate on speaking English.  But she was on the verge of tears again.  She really didn't need to be mocked by Angel while she was trying to make a hasty retreat to ... to where?  Buffy had no idea where she was going.

Her father was right, she had no money, no car, no apartment.  She had mooched off of him for years.  She didn't even know if she would have a dorm room in the fall since he was paying for her education as well.  For all of her popularity and status, she didn't have a damn thing that was her own.  Most people had years to work on their independence, but she was trying to cram it all into one grand gesture.

It was too much.  Buffy dropped her bags and clapped her hands over her mouth as she started sobbing.  She was disgusted with herself for breaking down in front of Angel, but helpless to stop it.

Wordlessly, Angel picked up both of her bags and headed down the walk to the circular drive in front of Giles' enormous house.  With a small chirp, the trunk to his BMW clicked open and he deposited the bags inside.

Buffy gulped a frantic breath of air as her crying subsided in the wake of her growing confusion.  She stared at Angel as he mutely opened the passenger side door and stood waiting - obviously for her.

Not knowing what else to do, she self-consciously walked down the sidewalk, and after several tense heartbeats and sniffles, climbed into his car.  She sat, staring out the windshield, bewildered, as Angel walked around and slid behind the wheel.  He flipped the ignition and the engine roared to life.  As he shifted the car into drive, he turned his head and said, "Seatbelt."

Angel had been bodysnatched, that was the only explanation.  Buffy clicked her seatbelt into place.  Satisfied, Angel drove down the driveway and out into the residential street headed towards the freeway entrance.

Buffy was in a tight spot.  She needed whatever help she could get.  For that reason, she would be willing to overlook the fact that Angel had obviously been lobotomized earlier in the day.  But if you had a lobotomy, could you still drive?  Well, she couldn't prove the brain segmentation, but Angel was acting weird.  Even for him.  That was saying something, especially given how well she knew him.  Angel had been a part of her life since she was eight years old.  Up until she was fifteen, they had actually been friends - in so much as you could be friends with someone ten years older than yourself.  And who - by the way - did that?  What twenty-year-old man would sit through eighty-five viewings of "The Princess Bride" with a ten-year-old girl?  Perv.  Oh, he'd never done anything out of line.  At the time, Buffy had adored him for it.  Now she just found it creepy.

After Buffy's "accident", her father became absolutely dictatorial on the subject of Angel.  He was no longer welcome in their home.  At least not while her dad was there.  Angel and Jenny weren't particularly close, but as each other's only living relatives, they both felt the need to maintain contact.  Angel visited only when his brother-in-law was away.  Buffy was sure that suited his sneaky nature just fine.

Jenny rarely spoke of her past beyond the fact that she had been born and largely raised in Ireland.  All Buffy knew was that Jenny and Angel had the same mother, but different fathers.  Jenny and Angel's mother was a gypsy.  Jenny seemed to harbor more than a few bitter feelings towards the woman.  After becoming pregnant as the result of an extramarital affair, their mother divorced Jenny's father and embarked on a nomadic lifestyle that carried her two children across the globe for years on end.

Jenny was thirteen when her mother was murdered somewhere in Asia.  She and four-year-old Angel were returned to Jenny's father.  It was nearly a year later when they learned that Angel's father was aware of his son - and wanted him.  As it turned out, Angel's father, Linwood Roarke, was very wealthy and had no other children.  He was aging and at war with his family.  He apparently decided that a bastard child was better than leaving his fortune to his estranged siblings and their families.  Having no other recourse, Jenny's father reluctantly handed over the little boy.

By the time Jenny saw her brother again, Angel was unrecognizable.  Gone was the gentle little boy, replaced by a man as cold and calculating as his father had been - and even more wealthy.  The one good thing Rupert Giles had to say about his brother-in-law was that he knew Angel didn't remain in contact with Jenny because he needed money.  Angel's fortune eclipsed Giles' many times over.  Any relationship he chose to maintain with Jenny was not for monetary gain.

But Angel's wealth wasn't measured only in financial terms.  He was also a very powerful practitioner of the Dark Arts.  Buffy couldn't look at him without remembering the price he paid for his power.  Angel was a twilight creature, similar to a Slayer.  He had willfully absorbed a great deal of dark magicks in his quest for power.  The magicks were not sufficient to turn him into a creature of darkness, but he was no longer entirely human.  Buffy remembered when Angel almost died.  She remembered the pathetic, wasted creature he had been the morning Jenny pushed past Wesley and forced her way into his private rooms.

Angel scared Buffy, but not for the reasons he scared so many people.  She shivered at the idea of what could drive a young man to sacrifice so much of himself for vengeance.  Angel was beautiful and wealthy and powerful.  That was enough to make most of the world turn a blind eye to his less desirable qualities.

But Buffy wasn't blinded.  She saw how he was different from humanity.  His eyes were black and lifeless as a reptile.  It didn't escape her notice that he intensely disliked direct sunlight.  She also noticed his grip was always a little too firm, betraying a strength that was decidedly preternatural.  She didn't miss all the little ways he was set apart from humanity - because though she tried to ignore it, she was set apart too, albeit in different ways.

As the car merged onto the freeway, Buffy cleared her throat.  "Where are we going?" she asked.

"I'm taking you to a friend," Angel said casually, not bothering to look at her.

"Who ... where?" Buffy asked, her head beginning to pound from stress and confusion.

Turning his head, Angel looked at her dispassionately.  "You're running away from home, right?" he asked coolly.  "One of your stuffed animals was poking out of a bag.  Given that you're not twelve and headed for a sleep-over, I'm guessing that means you're leaving permanently."  Angel knew the stuffed animal in question was named Mr. Gordo, but he wasn't going to say that.  The more disinterested Buffy thought he was at the moment, the better.

"I'm not running away," Buffy said defiantly.  "I'm leaving home.  I'm an adult.  I don't have to run."

Angel smirked. "So you weren't running when you almost knocked me down the steps."

Buffy said nothing, staring mutely at the road.  Angel couldn't help but smile at the sight.  She was so gloriously beautiful when she was angry.  He loved her feisty, defiant nature.  Buffy spoke her mind and stood her ground, bowing for no one.  Well, at least not for him.  Angel knew that the Buffy he saw was not the same one with which the rest of the world was acquainted.  Her irritation with him never allowed her to maintain the vacuous façade she donned for so many other people.  He found that bare honesty incredibly charming.

Buffy had no idea how absolutely attractive he found her - had always found her.  Angel had waited years for Buffy to be old enough to pursue.  He had always known he would eventually have her.  It was fated.  Tonight was proof enough of that.  He stopped by on a fluke to speak with Janna and Buffy stumbled into him before he even reached the front door.  Some things were simply meant to happen.  There was no arguing with the destiny.  It was one of the few lessons he remembered from his mother.

"I'm also guessing," Angel continued, "that you don't have anywhere to go.  I can't imagine you begging for a place to stay from any of the social vultures you hang out with, though I'm sure they would love the gossip.  And I know my sister would never forgive me if I let you sleep on the streets."

Buffy flinched at his words.  No doubt Cordelia and Sunday would love to let her stay at their houses, provided they could be the ones to break the news of her recent incarceration and subsequent homelessness.  No, she couldn't do that.  But she did have her limits.  "So you're going to give me to someone?" she balked.  "No thanks.  Just drop me off somewhere."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Let's dispense with the melodrama, shall we," he said wryly.  "I am not dropping you somewhere in L.A.  Janna would kill me.  Secondly, I am not giving you to anyone.  This isn't white slavery for gods' sake.  An associate of mine needs a roommate.  You'll like Willow.  She doesn't think very highly of me as a human being.  She also goes to UCLA and is a damn fine Wicca."

Much to her irritation, Buffy's interest was piqued.  In spite of, or maybe because of, her recent fight with her father, the Wiccan arts seemed even more appealing.  Buffy knew a large part of her father's aversion to Angel was based solely on the fact that he was very knowledgeable in the area of dark magicks. Plus, Buffy was intrigued to discover what kind of people Angel kept as associates.  She couldn't imagine him being platonic with a woman.

But regardless of how much she wanted to start her own life, there were a few problems with Angel's plan.  "I ... I don't have any money," Buffy said in a rush, embarrassed.

Angel looked at her impassively.  "Are you going to get a job?" he asked.

"Yes," Buffy said.

"Fine," he replied blandly.  "Then I'll lend you money and you pay me back.  With interest, of course.  I'm not running a charity."

Buffy narrowed her gaze, looking him up and down.  Try as she might, she could discern no ulterior motive in his words.  She had no idea why he was being so helpful, but she was also clueless as to what he could possibly stand to gain.  She couldn't give him the benefit of the doubt, Angel never did anything without a reason.  However, at the moment, she couldn't afford much skepticism.

[End Chapter 3] 


	5. Chapter 5

Angel lounged on the sofa as Willow showed Buffy around the roomy, loft apartment.  It was located in a refurbished factory building.  With the money as she made working for Angel, Willow could have afforded a posh little apartment in a more upscale neighborhood, but she preferred the urban blight.  Rather than a nice, but tiny, apartment, here she could afford a sprawling open loft with plenty of room for magickal experiments.  The walls were a bare, red brick and the floors were scarred hardwood.  The apartment was divided into two sections, the first was the open kitchen/living room/workspace area with its twenty foot ceilings and windows that ran almost the entire expanse.  There was a wall behind the kitchen area that separated the two bedrooms and the bathroom from the communal areas.  It was a pretty nice place, considering its location.

The space was large and despite being well acquainted with sprawling homes, Buffy was impressed.  Angel knew Buffy was initially skeptical of Willow due to the mere fact that she was his acquaintance.  However, despite their mutual wariness, the two young women seemed to be making fast friends.

Angel knew that he and Willow were not likely associates.  It would be difficult to find two people more different.  They weren't friends.  They weren't even friendly most of the time.  But both of them were good at what they did, and they respected the same in the other.

As the two women wandered back into the living room area, he stood and faced them expectantly.  They looked at each other and then back to him.  "I think it will work," Willow said with a smile.

Angel let the barest hint of a grin play on his lips.  "I'll get your bags," he said to Buffy.

She nodded and watched him leave, her attention transfixed on the door.  There had to be six different locks on it.  This was not going to be like living in her father's pool house.  Turning, she looked at Willow and found her new roommate staring at her oddly.

"What was that?" Willow asked cautiously.

Buffy looked around nervously.  "What?"

"What Roarke said to you," Willow replied.  "That wasn't English.  In fact it didn't even sound like a real language."

Buffy grinned sheepishly as she realized what had happened.  "He said he was going to get my bags," she told Willow.

"He said that?" Willow parroted skeptically.

Buffy nodded.

"He said that in what?" Willow pressed.

Buffy shrugged.  Great way to start off her relationship with her new roommate, by convincing her that she was a freak.  "It's called ShadowTongue," Buffy replied awkwardly.  "It's ... it's not really a language.  It has no form."  Buffy knew first hand how odd the language sounded to others.  Once, her father had recorded her talking to Angel and later played it back.  It was unintelligible.  Her "words" were soft vowel sounds and little mewls.  Angel's were something between a low growl and a purr.  Together, they were a sound-byte from Wild Kingdom.  It wasn't exactly the first impression Buffy wanted to make.

"ShadowTongue?" Willow said thoughtfully.  "I thought that was just a myth."

Shrugging again, Buffy said, "Yeah, well, it's not.  It took my father almost two years to figure out what it was.  I mean, I can't speak it.  Neither can Angel."

"Angel?"

Buffy sighed.  She was tired, she really just wanted to go to bed for a week.  She also didn't like the little reminders of how intertwined her life was with Angel's.  Or of how not impersonal their relationship was.  Her light conversation with Willow led her to believe that the Wicca's relationship with Angel was very much about business.  Sadly, the same could not be said for hers.  She didn't want Willow to get the wrong idea about things.  "Roarke," she explained.  "Angel is his ... family name."

Willow seemed to take it all in stride.  She said, "So, you and ... Angel.  Both of you speak ShadowTongue?"

Buffy nodded.  "We can talk to each other with it, but only each other.  It isn't a real language.  If I'm looking at him, talking to him, I just speak.  Unless I'm really concentrating on speaking English, it comes out ShadowTongue.  According to my father, it's 'one of the most basic forms of language that has ever existed'.  He says it's primal; communication without structure."  She omitted the fact that all of Giles' research into the matter had been geared towards negating the phenomenon.

Willow looked at her with barely veiled curiosity.  "I've read a few vague references to it," she said, "but I'll admit I never dreamed that it really existed."

Buffy shifted her weight on the balls of her feet.  It made her feel strange when she had to explain things like this, despite the fact that Willow seemed to have a scholarly interest in the matter.  Buffy had spent the last three years ignoring Angel and everything he entailed.  If tonight were a true indication, that would no longer be an option.

Angel opened the door and Willow let the subject drop, tactfully retreating to her workspace in the corner of the large common area.  After depositing the bags on the floor, Angel mutely reached into his wallet and carefully counted bills.  After double-checking and obviously making a mental note, he folded the bills and handed them to Buffy.  Cautiously, she took the money and started to put it in her pocket.  "Count it," he said.  She gave him a quizzical look and he explained, "Just to make sure we both agree on how much you will be repaying."

She frowned, but conceded that he had a point.  Unfolding the bills, she counted them aloud.  When she was done she cocked an eyebrow at him and he nodded.  At least his bluntness about paying interest removed some of the awkwardness of being forced to borrow money.  And it was a lot of money.  Part of her was tempted to give some back, but since she had no reserves, she couldn't afford to do that.  "Okay," she said, "now all I need to do is find a job."

"You've already got one," he replied blandly.

Her eyes narrowed as she met his gaze.  "Where?" she asked.

"Caritas," he said, handing her a business card.  "It's a club downtown.  I own it.  Go see Lorne, the manager, tomorrow and tell him I sent you.  That's his card."

"A club?" Buffy asked warily.

"Yes," he said dryly.  "Don't worry, it's not a strip club and unless you have some other skills I don't know about, it should work out fine."

Buffy didn't miss the double entendre as she glared at him.  "Sounds great," she said dryly.

Angel smiled wickedly and left.

*****

Willow handed the set of sheets to her new roommate.  Buffy smiled sheepishly and set them on the bed in Willow's spare room.  "Thanks again," she said.  "I really mean that.  I feel so lame barging in on you like this."

"It's no big," Willow assured her.  She sighed and leaned back against the doorjamb, biting down on her bottom lip.  "Did Roarke tell you anything about my situation?" she asked cautiously.

"Not much," Buffy admitted.  "He just said that you needed a roommate."

Willow nodded.  "I had a roommate, Tara," she explained cautiously.  "I mean, we both lived here, but this really wasn't her room.  We shared."

"Shared?" Buffy asked dumbly.  Why would you share when there were two perfectly good beds?  Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what Willow was saying.  "Oh."

Willow laughed self-deprecatingly.  "Yeah," she said, "we didn't want our parents to know.  They would have freaked.  Of course, things that seemed important then seem trivial now."

"Did you two have a falling out?" Buffy asked tentatively.  She was truly concerned, but more than that, she didn't want to be stepping into the middle of a volatile situation.

"No," she said.  "Tara and I were very much in love.  She was ... "  Willow trailed off and then coughed to clear her throat.  "Tara was killed six months ago."

"Oh my god, Willow, I'm so sorry," Buffy said.

Willow shrugged, tears glistening in her eyes.  "It took me a long time, but I'm finally starting to get over it.  I mean, it still feels like I'm dying every day, but now I can actually get out of bed and go to class most days."

"Look," Buffy said, "if you need more time alone -"

"No," Willow said firmly.  "I didn't mean to scare you off.  I don't want to be the freaky basket case roommate.  I just thought you should be aware of the whole situation.  I'm actually really glad that you're here.  It gets pretty lonely some days."

Buffy looked at Willow seriously.  "I can't tell you how grateful I am," she said.

Willow smiled.  "Me too."

*****

Buffy stopped on the corner and looked around.  Lorne told her the club was hard to find and he hadn't lied.  She didn't see a sign of it.  She was quickly tiring of this venture.  It took Buffy almost an hour to walk to the appointed intersection from her apartment.  She looked warily at the dirty alley and reconsidered her options.  As far as job training went, she didn't have any.  She couldn't type.  She couldn't use a computer.  Again, she had let her father take care of her rather than earning her own keep.

Her conversation with Lorne had been short, but he gave her an important heads-up.  Caritas catered to all species.  Buffy wasn't in the least bit shocked to learn that Angel had his fingers in the demon world as much as he did in the human - and he was an equally high roller in both.

Trudging down the alley, Buffy finally saw the entrance and carefully descended the grimy stairs.  The interior of the club was dark and smelled like cigarettes.  Apparently demon bars weren't forced to comply with the non-smoking regulations.  Go figure.  There was a skinny Hispanic guy working behind the bar, and he pointed her towards an office at the back of the club.

Buffy stopped in the doorway and stared at the brightly dressed demon.  She had the notion that his yellow suit should clash with his lime green skin tone, but for some odd reason it didn't.  Maybe the red horns tied it all together.

"Well, hello, Sugar Muffin," he crooned.  "What can Lorne do for you, or to you, this fine afternoon?"

"Uh ... "  Buffy stared at him blankly for several seconds.  "Ang - er, uh, Liam Roarke sent me.  I'm Buffy.  I talked to you on the phone earlier."  You know, when you completely failed to mention that you aren't human! she thought.

"Oh," he said, putting down the pen he was using to make notes in a ledger.  "So you're the Slayer.  No offense, Honey Bear, but I was expecting you to be ... well ... scarier.  More with the lip hair and Eastern Block accent.  But you're cute as a bug."

Buffy arched an eyebrow.  "Can't say I'm sorry to disappoint," she said wryly.

Lorne smiled broadly, his expression oddly wistful.  "Funny," he mused, "I figured that Tall Dark and Broody's perceptions were skewed.  I mean, they almost always are.  But your impression was right on.  I should have recognized you sooner."

"Tall Dark and Broody?" Buffy asked warily.

Lorne shook his head and laughed somewhat nervously.  A slip like that could cost him a lot more than his job.  Just because he could live through a beheading didn't mean he liked them.  "Never you mind about that, Sugar Plum," he said.  "You've got loads of other stuff to worry your pretty little head about."  He looked around the room and snatched a piece of paper off a bookcase.  "Like this," he said, handing it to her.

Buffy looked at the piece of paper.  "What is this?"

"A schedule," he said.  "You need to look it over and fill in your section."

Buffy read down the roster.  "What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

Lorne frowned at her.  "Put your name down and fill in your hours."

"I thought I was going to be doing something ... easy," she said, confused.

Lorne blinked at her mutely.  "The Big Guy told me I was supposed to have you fill out hours.  He was quite adamant about you being one of the bouncers," Lorne replied.

"Bouncer?" Buffy squeaked.  She quickly cleared her throat.  "I ... uh, don't know about this," she said.

Lorne looked at her blankly for a moment, his lips pursed together.  "He was very clear," he said.  "He told me that you are the new bouncer and that I am supposed to help you any way I can."

"Bouncer," Buffy said again, trying the word on for size.

*****

Buffy sat in her car - no scratch that, the company car - outside of her new apartment building.  The wheels weren't flashy like her graduation present from her father.  The 1993 Chevy Cavalier had definitely seen better days, but it was functional and it meant no more riding the bus.  After she got the situation squared with Lorne, he gave her keys to the club and the car, a new cell phone - which was good because the current one was under her father's name - and a pager.

She was apparently going to be a bouncer not only for Caritas but also for Temple Flesh, Angel's very posh human-only club, which would be opening next week.  Most of the bouncers would soon work at both venues depending on what was needed.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?  Bouncer.  She kept saying the word over and over and it still made her think of gigantic, sweaty men.  How the hell was she supposed to be a bouncer?  If she wasn't so grateful for the apartment, job and added amenities, Buffy would be tempted to go bounce Angel upside his head.  The nerve of that man!  No doubt he found it infinitely amusing to make her a heavy.

Buffy snorted as she got out of the car and headed for her apartment.  Yes, when it came down to it, she could handle the job.  As Angel loved to point out, she was a Slayer.  As much as she always downplayed her strength, she was physically able to do what would be required.  But it didn't mean she had to like it.  Gods, that man!  Why couldn't he have given her an office job?  Or bartending?  She saw Coyote Ugly.  With her looks and attitude, she could clean up as a bartender.  Hell, she would have even settled for waitressing.  But no, leave it to Angel to make her a frickin' bouncer.

*****

"Is there a reason she's not doing that?"

Gunn turned around, his expression sheepish as he eyed his employer.  He was patting down a beefy looking Tholeyna demon.  The demon was at least seven feet tall and weighed about four hundred pounds.  It had a mouth full of inch long teeth.  Several feet away, Buffy sat on a barstool, studying her bubble gum pink fingernails.  "This is a joke, right?" Gunn asked.

"Tonight is Buffy's night on the door," Angel said in complete seriousness.

Gunn looked over the petite blonde, his face plastered with incredulity.  Buffy's expression was completely innocent as she sat there in her knee length floral print skirt and light pink tanktop.  Her flimsy heeled sandals and wealth of matching pink bracelets completed the outfit perfectly.  Gunn glared at his employer.  He didn't know what Roarke was playing at, but it wasn't funny.  There was no way that little girl could do his job.  "Man, you can't honestly expect her to - "

"I expect her to do her job," Angel snapped.  "Just like I expect you to do yours.  Or I'll expect you both to find new employment.  You're supposed to be on patrol tonight, not here sniffing after your new co-workers."  Gunn swallowed back his comment as Angel's attention turned to Buffy.  "Come with me," he said ominously.  He didn't wait to see if she followed as he headed for his office.

Angel's office was above Caritas and there were only two ways to access it.  The easiest was the elevator in Lorne's office.  The Anagogic demon was doing a real good job of looking busy as Angel strode through the office.   "Wimp," Buffy muttered as she followed at a much less hurried clip.

"Crumbcake," Lorne whispered, never taking his eyes off the ledger, "sometimes people don't have to sing for me to get the picture.  Might I just say, 'busted'."

"Bitch."

"Back atcha, Sweetheart," Lorne said, looking up long enough to give her an evil wink.

Buffy glared, but reluctantly followed Angel.  They rode up to the second floor in complete silence and Angel exited the elevator first.  She closed the iron gate and leaned back against it, staring around his spacious office which looked more like an apartment.  She crossed her arms over her chest as she studied the pieces of art hanging on his walls.  Anything to avoid looking at him.

"Let's just get one thing straight right now," he said.  Buffy looked up and met his gaze.  "I am not your father," Angel bit out.

Buffy snorted impudently.  "Wow, there's a shocker," she said.

Angel snarled at her before snatching a sword off the wall and tossing it to her hilt first.  Buffy caught it awkwardly, staring at it stupidly as she watched Angel grab its mate.  As he advanced, she realized that he meant to attack her.  Her blood felt like ice water.  Her grasp on the sword faltered and she nearly dropped it.

Angel, still looking very angry, swung at her.  He wasn't playing.  Buffy froze for a split second before gracelessly throwing herself out of the way.  Angel embedded the sword in the wall where she had been standing.  He pulled on it fiercely, trying to work it free.  Buffy scrambled to her feet frantically and retreated around the couch and into the middle of the room, her heart pounding in her ears.

Angel freed his sword and advanced on Buffy.  She held her sword in front of her, trying to keep the couch between them.  She was trembling, afraid.  But it was also a hell of a rush.  He faked to his left and then jumped over the couch, lunging for her. She raised her sword, blocking his blow and deflecting his momentum to the side.  His momentum sent him tumbling over the desk and onto the floor, rolling into a bookcase.

"What the hell?"

Buffy and Angel both turned to see Lorne's head peeking through the elevator gate.  Angel growled and heaved a massive bookend at the club manager.  Lorne slammed the gate shut just before it impacted with his head, quickly retreating down to the first floor.

Angel got to his feet and advanced on Buffy.  Their swords met in a loud metallic clang that vibrated painfully through Buffy's entire hand.  He swung hard.  His blows were strong enough to cause her to teeter on her high heels, but she managed to parry.  As the fight went on, Buffy became more and more sure of herself.  Rather than simply defending, she took the occasional offensive move.  For innumerable minutes, they fought around his office, destroying everything.

As Angel swung back to get momentum for yet another crushing blow, Buffy made her move.  Rather than attacking him with the blade, she swung with the sword's hilt, clipping him brutally on the temple.

The hit dazed him and he stared at her blankly for several seconds before dropping to his knees in front of her.  He blinked slowly.  Buffy stood there, watching him as she panted harshly in the now quiet room.  Angel shook his head and lifted his hand to his temple.  He drew his fingers back and looked at the blood stained digits.

"Match to the lady," he said with a wry grin.

Buffy continued to eye him warily as he rose to his feet.  He hung his own sword on the wall and held out a hand for hers.  With a reluctant huff, she gave it to him - as much as she would have enjoyed it, she refrained from doing so point first.  "What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger.

"A lesson," Angel said blandly.

"A lesson?"  Buffy parroted incredulously.  "A lesson in what?  That you're a dick?"

Frowning, Angel studied her seriously.  "A lesson in your power," he said.

"My power?  You tried to kill me to teach me about my power?" she gaped.

Angel smiled slowly.  "I wouldn't have killed you," he said matter-of-factly.  "But I would have given you a very serious scar to remember me by."

Buffy had no trouble believing him.  "You're a psycho," she spat.

Angel shrugged, completely unconcerned by her assertions.  "I needed to illustrate that despite your and your father's protestations, that you are not some helpless little girl. You are the Slayer."

Buffy's lips pursed together tightly.  "I'm not the Slayer," she said.

"You are," he replied calmly.  "If you were anything less, right now you would be the one bleeding, not me.  You escaped unharmed because being a Slayer is not something that you can control.  It is who you are.  You can pretend to be incompetent, but your body knows the truth.  You are a warrior."

Buffy watched him mutely, having no idea how to respond.

"Go home," Angel said dismissively as the cut at his temple began to throb painfully.  "You're on the door tomorrow and you will do your job without assistance or you can go crawling back to your father."

[End Chapter 4]


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy sat in the bathtub staring at her hands.  Aside from being pruned from too long in the water, they were flawless.  Therein lay the problem.  When she limped out of Caritas several hours earlier, her hands had been bruised.  Now her hands and even the knee that was carpet burned were all healed.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself tightly.  Angel's attack should have left her scared, shaken, traumatized even.  She should be calling the cops and pressing charges.  But she wasn't.  How could she explain to the police that the injuries faded after a couple of hours?  She couldn't.

Even more disturbing, was the fact that she hadn't been afraid.  On the contrary, she felt alive for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Shaking her head, she stood up and stepped out of the tub, lukewarm water running off her body in rivulets.  She pulled the plug on the drain and wrapped herself in a towel.  It was a borrowed towel.  Buffy ran her fingers over the well worn fabric and was so thankful for Willow.  Buffy didn't know what she would do without her new roommate's kindness.  She felt like an urchin showing up on Willow's doorstep with no possessions except a duffel bag full of clothes and sentimental items.  But Willow hadn't seemed to mind.  She had a spare bedroom complete with furniture and enough general housekeeping supplies to share.  Buffy fully intended to pay Willow back when she had some money, but that would be a while yet.

Thoughts of money brought Buffy back to her current predicament.  She was still angry with her father.  But more and more, she was angry with herself.  As much as she loathed to admit it, Angel had a real point.  For far too long, Buffy had allowed herself to be taken care of, to be coddled.  For so long, she let others do what she could have - and should have - done for herself.

The logical remedy to this seemed to be to make it on her own.  Of course, to do that she needed two things: a job and money.  She had both, compliments of Angel.  It burned her to be indebted to him for anything, but no matter how many ways she looked at it, she didn't have a choice.

Or maybe she didn't want a choice.  Buffy cringed at the thought, but admitted to herself that there was more than a grain of truth in it.  Angel with all of his inherent problems still had something that she couldn't find anywhere else.  Angel expected her to perform to the fullest extent of her potential.  He believed in her.  Oh, sure, it wasn't the after school special sort of believing in someone.  He wasn't about pep talks or selfless concern.  She didn't doubt for one second that he had an angle on this somewhere - she just couldn't figure out what it was.  Angel never did anything for the benefit of anyone but himself.  Selfishness was his modus operandi.

But evil machinations aside, he still took her seriously.  Far more seriously than anyone else had ever taken her.  He wanted her to give it her all - and not just Buffy Summers' all, the Slayer's all.

Buffy used her palm to swipe a path across the steam-covered mirror.  She studied her reflection.  She didn't look any different.  Same long blonde hair.  Same muddled hazel eyes.  Same nose.  But inside ... inside she felt different.  The impromptu duel with Angel sparked something inside of her, something she spent the last three years forgetting.  Just like she ignored Angel for the last three years. He was tied to this - to her dark side, to whatever it was that made her a Slayer.  When she shunned her Slayer-self, she shunned him by definition.

Ever since that initial meeting ten years ago, there was an inexplicable bond between her and Angel.  It wasn't something out of a sappy novel.  It wasn't romantic or mythic or even enjoyable.  It was terrifying.  ShadowTongue was just one of many physical manifestations of their connection.  Having a bond with Angel was not a happy circumstance.  Angel was dangerous and Buffy had no desire to be tied to him.

She thought she had severed that bond three years ago.  Tonight showed pretty strong evidence to the contrary.  She hadn't stopped being a Slayer anymore than she had stopped being Buffy.  The fact that another had been Called didn't mean that she ceased to be what she was.  For the last three years she had been denying a part of herself.  And tonight for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she felt whole.

She met her own eyes in the mirror, shaken by the weight of her revelation.  Everything seemed to click into place.  She was Buffy, but she was still the Slayer.  She couldn't stop being either of those things.

*****

When Angel arrived at Caritas the following night, Buffy was manning the door alone.  She was dressed conservatively in a pair of tight fitting brown pants and a long sleeved black shirt with a deep V-neck.  The outfit managed to be attractive and functional at the same time.  Rather than going to his office as usual, he took a corner table and watched her.  He remained mute as Lorne joined him, both pairs of eyes fixated on the Slayer.

She was still charming as hell.  To most of the patrons, she flashed a gleaming smile and flirted.  They seemed to think it was cute that a waifish little girl was working the door.  Some of them even tipped her.  Angel made a mental note to pay a visit to an overly handsy little beatnik wannabe named Parker later in the week.

Angel caught Lorne's eye and realized his club's manager was watching him over the rim of his Sea Breeze.  "What?" he barked.

Lorne shrugged, looking back at Buffy.  "Nothing, Peaches," he said, "you're just sparking hotter than Eddie Murphy after a Sunset Boulevard transvestite."

Angel grumbled but let Lorne's comment slide.  He knew that this was not his style.  He rarely mingled with Caritas' clientele, much less brooded in a dark corner, staring at one of his own employees.  People were bound to think it odd.  Angel had never much cared what people thought, but he found he didn't appreciate Lorne's mental speculations.  "Don't you have a job to be doing?" he barked.

"I am doing it," Lorne answered evenly.

"Really?" Angel bit out.  "Doesn't look like it from here."

Lorne smiled tightly.  "My job is to offer advice," he said.  "Even to those who don't want it."

"Advice?" Angel drawled contemptuously.  "You think your advice has something to do with me?"

Lorne looked pointedly at the door.  "I knew enough to warn Gunn to keep his hands to himself," he said.

Angel's gaze narrowed menacingly.  "Did Gunn say anything to you about her?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Shaking his head, Lorne answered, "Definite 'no' to that one, Crumpet.  But I can tell he likes her.  Hell, everyone likes her.  The girl is beautiful and a regular firecracker in the personality department.  Quite a step up from your usual fare."

"Buffy is off limits."

Lorne took a deep breath.  "I know," he said.  "And trust me when I tell you that I don't need a direct line to the Powers That Be to pick up on that little gem."

Their conversation was cut short by a scuffle at the door.  Two drunk human guys were trying to get inside and Buffy wasn't going to let them.  Angel forced himself to sit in his chair while she worked.  It wouldn't serve to remind her that she was the Slayer by rescuing her.  He watched as she tried to flirt and charm.

It worked for a little while, but when the men realized she didn't intend to admit them, they became more forceful.  One of them tried to push her away and Buffy caught his wrist.  She didn't hurt him, she simply applied enough pressure to let him know that she wasn't kidding and that if push came to shove, he'd be on his ass in the alley.  Reluctantly, the duo retreated.

Lorne whistled under his breath.  "She did a damn good job," he said.  "Groo would have caused a couple hundred dollars worth of damage before proving his point."

Angel merely nodded, though his face shone with pride.

Hesitant to break Angel's obvious basking, Lorne took a deep breath before he said, "Boss, you know, I've sort of picked up on a little tidbit that might interest you."

Frowning, Angel turned his attention to Lorne.  "What?" he said impatiently.

"You," Lorne said carefully, "and the firecracker over there."

Angel sat up straighter in his chair. "What about Buffy and myself?" he asked in icy tones.

Lorne swallowed audibly.  "It's just ... I don't know.  I mean, I'm not crystal clear on this one, but you plus the Slayer."  He shook his head.  "It doesn't look good."

"Doesn't look good for who?"

"You."

Angel's dark expression made Lorne regret opening his mouth.  "Explain."

Lorne shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.  "I could be wrong.  I mean, I've never actually read either of you.  It's just this sort of ... psychic wake.  It happens with big players on the ethereal plane.  Most people are a match in a dark room.   Powerhouses like you and the Slayer over there ... you guys are like sunrise on a clear morning.  I get residual readings without even trying."

"Residual readings that tell you what, exactly?"

"That something's got to break," Lorne said seriously.  "You two are fire and ice.  You can't be around each other without something big changing.  The only way to avoid that is to avoid each other."

Angel's expression gave nothing away, but Lorne had the sinking feeling that Angel would disregard his advice.

*****

Jenny abruptly stood up from the table, her expression strained as she watched Buffy walk into the deli.  The bright mid-morning sun made her pale blonde locks shimmer and Jenny sighed in relief at the realization that Buffy obviously wasn't living on the streets.  Stopping in front of her stepmother, Buffy was hesitant until Jenny's face cracked into a smile and she wrapped Buffy in a crushing hug.  Buffy hugged her back, letting herself admit for the first time in over a week how much she missed her family.

Pulling back, Jenny motioned for Buffy to sit and then did the same.  They looked at each other a bit uncomfortably Jenny wringing her hands.  "You look well," Jenny said.

Buffy nodded, unable to meet her stepmother's eyes.  She knew what Jenny wasn't saying.  She knew that her parents had been worried to death about her for the last week.  She knew they had no idea where she was staying or what she was doing.  "I'm fine," she said quietly.  "I have an apartment and a job."

Jenny's shock was clear.  She opened her mouth and then shut it again.  "An apartment," she said.  "I was ... well, your father and I both were hoping that you would be coming home today."

Shaking her head, Buffy pursed her lips together.  "I can't," she said.

A waiter appeared to take their orders and they both opted for beverages only.  When he was gone, Jenny continued.  "Your father knows that he was harsh, Buffy - "

"I'm not a child," she said firmly.  For the first time, she said it without sounding petulant.  Her assertion was flat, dull, a boring fact of life.  And it was real.

Jenny nodded slowly.  "Indeed," she replied, folding her napkin to keep her hands busy.

Buffy took a deep breath and said, "I can't go home, Jenny.  I don't belong there anymore.  I need to be on my own, to live my own life, find my own way."

The expression on Jenny's face was an odd mix of admiration, regret and pain.  "Your father- "

"Won't understand," Buffy finished.  She nodded.  "I know," she said, "but it doesn't make it untrue.  He can't see me as an adult.  I know a lot of that is my fault, but it has to change."

They sat in strained silence as the waiter left their drinks.  Buffy took a sip of the overly sweet tea.  Slowly, she reached into her purse and dug out a small yellow sticky note and handed it to Jenny.  "It's my new cell phone," she said.

Jenny stared blankly at the paper, her face reflecting her hurt.  "You don't trust us enough to tell us where you live or where you work?"

Buffy flushed.  "It's not that I don't trust you," she said hastily.  "It's just ... I have to have this to myself - for a while."

Swallowing thickly, Jenny nodded.  "Just remember," she said, "you always have a home."

*****

Willow was sitting cross-legged on the couch when Buffy walked in, still feeling off kilter from her meeting with Jenny.  "Hey," Willow said with a smile.

"Hey," Buffy replied.  She liked Willow, but she didn't really know her very well.  Most of their interaction tended to be of this nature.

Willow laughed at the awkward situation and set her book down.  "I need to run out and get some magick supplies, you want to get some fresh air?"

Buffy started to decline and then stopped.  She didn't want to impose upon Willow, but yes, she did want to go.  She had always been fascinated by magick.  Plus, she could get her mind off her estranged family.  "Sure," she said.

The crowded little shop was in a strip mall, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a taco place.  Buffy smiled to herself at how mundane it seemed.  The store was filled floor to ceiling with shelves packed with magick supplies.  Narrow isles ran the length of the store.  Buffy eyed the clerk who was half asleep behind the counter and whispered to Willow, "Aren't they afraid of shoplifters?"

Willow shook her head.  "You can't take any of the items out of here without first removing the enchantment.  Plus, you know, it's bad karma."

Buffy nodded, and went about her browsing.  There were lots of books, mortars and pestles, and a case full of dried herbs took up one entire wall.  Mixed in with the more mundane were the occasional startling items such as wicked looking knives, dried monkey's paws and highly polished runes.  Buffy walked down the rows with her hands buried in her pockets, nosing along the shelves, her eyes the size of a child's in a candy store.

Buffy startled as she noticed a particular stone.  It wasn't very large, maybe an inch by two inches, roughly rectangular.  It appeared to be onyx, though Buffy wasn't entirely certain.  It could have been obsidian.  Carved into the front of the stone was a rough tribal pattern of a big cat, a panther or possibly a jaguar.  She stared at the stone intently, startling when Willow spoke so close to her ear.

"Wow," Willow said in a breathy voice, her eyes locked on the stone, "I never thought I would see a real one of these."

Buffy tore her gaze from the stone long enough to look at her roommate.  "What is it?" she asked.

"A Nottis stone," Willow said in an awed tone that indicated that Buffy should find some meaning in the words.

Frowning, Buffy asked, "What's it for?"

Willow smiled.  "I thought you were a Slayer," she said.

Buffy shrugged, blushing slightly.  "You might say I'm seriously lacking on the formal education part of the whole Slayer experience."

Willow picked the stone off the shelf and held it out to Buffy.  Obediently, she allowed Willow to place the stone on the palm of her hand.  "What does it feel like?" Willow asked.

Buffy balled her fist around the stone.  "Warm," she said.

Smiling, Willow replied giddily, "It likes you."  At Buffy's wary expression, Willow explained, "Nottis stones are one of the few reactive relics.  They are either warm or cold depending on whether they are in harmony or discord with the person holding them.  Traditionally only Slayers can harmonize with them, and then only Slayers with an affinity for the totem animal."

Buffy rolled the stone over in her fingers, looking at the outline of the large predator.

"This is a rare piece," Willow explained.  "I'm shocked that they have one here.  I thought the Council had them all locked up in England.  Nottis stones are made from quartz, any type.  They're usually white or rose quartz, but this one seems to be onyx.  They bear the mark of a particular Slayer's totem animal."

"Totem animal?" Buffy repeated, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Totem animals are largely symbolic," Willow explained.  "They're a sort of mascot for the Slayer.  It's rumored that some Slayers actually had an affinity with their totem animals, but I've never seen any documented accounts.  Also, for whatever reason, Slayers were typically associated with birds.  This is the first feline totem I've ever heard of, much less seen."

With a smile, Willow shrugged and left to resume her shopping.  Buffy turned the Nottis stone over again, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared at it.  The weight felt perfect in her palm.  She studied the rugged outline of the large cat.  Buffy never considered herself a cat person, but she couldn't deny that the stone seemed to pull at something inside of her.  Her gaze traced the outline of the big cat, noting its sleek, deadly lines.  Its power seemed to radiate from the stone.  It reminded her of something ...

"Angel," she whispered.

Buffy jumped as she realized what she had said.  She dropped the stone and it landed noiselessly on the dull beige carpet.  Quickly Buffy bent over, picking up the stone and placing it on the shelf.  She hurriedly walked down the isle, not daring to look back.

*****

It took Buffy nearly twenty minutes on the ride home to broach the subject with Willow, but taking a deep breath, she asked, "How do you know so much about Slayers?"

Willow looked over at her roommate and smiled.  "You noticed that, huh?" she asked, then laughed lightly.  "I know about Slayers from Faith, but I'm trying to reserve judgment.  I figure they can't all be that skanky."

"Faith?" Buffy asked.  She thought it was the name of the current Slayer, but she wasn't certain.

"She was Called about two and a half years ago, and she's a mess," Willow said, her distaste evident.

"Why are you working with the Slayer?" Buffy asked.  "I thought they were lone wolves."

Willow shrugged.  "I think they generally fly solo.  Most of the time Faith acts like she's a one-woman army.  But she isn't.  We all work for Roarke.  Without him, even Faith would be out on her leather-clad bottom.  Me; Faith; her Watcher, Wesley; Gunn; Groo; and an assortment of odd demons - we're all on Roarke's payroll."

"You work for Angel?" Buffy gasped in astonishment.

Willow shrugged, a wry expression on her face as she studied the freeway traffic.  "Trust me, it wasn't something I ever planned on.  Roarke's reputation precedes him and it's not good.  He pursued me for months and I always told him no.  But then I saw him work and it was just so ... guh.  Spiritual almost.  Once I got past my violent personal dislike for him, I realized he's actually not that bad of a guy.  I mean, sure he has his issues and I want no part of them, but in terms of the amount of real good he does, he's pretty amazing.  And for sheer power, no magick worker I've ever seen - good or bad - can touch him."

"Angel good?" Buffy choked out.

Willow nodded reluctantly, a sheepish grin on her lips. "I know.  It shocked me too.  He's very covert about it.  I don't doubt that his behavior serves to further his own agenda, but he polices the demonic underworld in L.A.  He keeps things under control.  I'm sure his reasons aren't completely altruistic, but the end result is that he makes the city a better place for everyone."

Buffy leaned back in her seat, staring blankly at the flowing traffic.  Angel was a good guy?  She really couldn't wrap her mind around the concept.  Okay, so she knew somewhere deep inside that he wasn't really rotten to the core.  But he was definitely rough around the edges.  And he most certainly did what was best for himself.  But apparently somewhere along the line, he decided that making L.A. a safer place served his purposes.  Good guy by default.  Very interesting.

[End Chapter 5]


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy stared at the large metal box sitting on the table in Lorne's office.  It was a slow night, things wouldn't pick up until later in the evening.  To entertain herself in the interim, she was escorting a young man up to Angel's office rather than having one of Lorne's flunkies do it.  The box set her Slayer senses to tingling, though she didn't know why.  She gave it a wide berth as she headed towards the elevator.

Before she could flip the controls, the elevator descended and Angel, Lorne and Willow exited.  Lorne was frowning as he made a beeline for his desk, but Angel and Willow were engrossed in some terribly serious conversation.

Buffy cleared her throat loudly and Angel glanced at her, letting her know that he'd been aware of her presence the entire time.  Buffy frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.  "He says he has an appointment with you," she said dryly, nodding to the young man at her side.

"Oz," Angel said in greeting.

"Roarke," Oz replied evenly.  He turned his attention to the box.  "This it?" he asked.

Angel smiled, stepping closer to the box.  Willow hung back, watching her mentor.  "One magickally crafted Trojan Horse Box of Gavrok at your service," Angel said.

Oz walked up to the box, solemnly putting his hands on it.  He took a deep breath before turning to look at Angel once more.  "You sure this is gonna work?" he asked, his face set in hard lines.

"You mean are the fake bugs going to be enough to cramp Wilkins' plans?" Angel asked with a smirk.

Straightening up, Oz turned to face him, his posture absolutely rigid.  "I mean is your little magick trick really going to be enough to thwart an ascension," he ground out.

Buffy didn't know who Oz was, but she could see the strain on his features.  Stress seemed to seep out of his pores.  Oz was a desperate man.

"This will stop him," Angel said seriously, his perfectly black eyes glittering.

Oz took a deep breath, looking once again at the box.  "This doesn't and everyone's gonna be in a world of hurt, not just Sunnydale," he said.

"It will work," Angel bit out.

Oz finally nodded, picking up the box with an ease that was more than human.  "You'll get your tribute next week," Oz said, "provided we're still around."

"I'll look forward to receiving it," Angel replied evenly.

Buffy watched Oz leave and turned to face Angel. "Sunnydale?" she said.  It being her former hometown, she was understandably curious.

Angel nodded.  "Mayor Wilkins is planning to turn himself into a demon," Angel said with a smirk.  "How very amateur.  Anyway, the Sunnydale White Hats came to me for help."

"And will your gravel box do the job?"

Frowning at her obvious disregard for the proper names of mystical relics, Angel said, "It's more than sufficient to take care of one annoying immortal.  My latest masterpiece would be able to take Wilkins out of the game even if he had already transfigured.  They don't have anything to worry about."

*****

"Sir?"  Wesley's voice was slightly higher than usual, betraying his unease with the situation.  Angel growled low in his throat and turned to face Wesley.  The Watcher was slightly pale, sweat beaded on his upper lip.  The hammer in his hands shook with the force of his trembling.  "Sir, what should we do with him?"

Angel looked at the boy bound to the chair.  The same boy who had groped Buffy in Caritas her first night on the job.  Parker wasn't strictly evil - but he had trespassed on forbidden territory.  Angel wanted to kill him, wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp with that hammer Wesley kept dropping.  Of course, if Buffy found out ... Angel didn't finish the thought.  While she had been annoyed with Parker's advances, Angel knew she wouldn't take kindly to him defending her honor with lethal force.  But still, the idea appealed.  The darkness inside of him yearned for the death, yearned to hear Parker's tortured screams.  With every day that passed, the bloodlust within him grew stronger.

He pushed the thought away, shaking his head roughly.  Angel's nose scrunched up as he looked at the puddle of urine under the boy's chair.  "Let him go," he said to Wesley.  "But if he's in Caritas again ... I won't be so forgiving."   
 

*****

Buffy stood nervously inside the elevator, staring out into Angel's office.  In the last three weeks she had been working at Caritas, she'd managed to avoid Angel as much as possible.  But she needed to see him again.  She needed to have her schedule changed again and Lorne assured her for the billionth time that the only way for that to happen was by speaking directly to Angel.  For the record, Buffy found it intensely annoying that the club's manager, Lorne, couldn't handle employee scheduling.  When she mentioned that to Lorne, he had just smiled at her and then muttered something under his breath about Roarke.

"Yes," Angel said dryly, looking at her over the edge of his fax.

Buffy frowned before throwing back the elevator's gate and stepping into his office.  She walked over to his desk and took a seat in one of the chairs, holding up the roster.  "I need to talk to you about my schedule," she said.

Angel watched her for several drawn out moments.  "What about it?"

Perching on the edge of the seat, Buffy bit down on her bottom lip as she looked at Angel.  He watched her passively, waiting for her to speak.  She took a deep breath.  "I need you to change my schedule," she said.

Angel's eyes narrowed slightly in irritation.  "You were in here last week telling me you wanted more hours," he said.  "Or have you forgotten about the money you're supposed to be repaying me."

Buffy's cheeks burned in embarrassment.  "Of course I haven't forgotten," she snipped.  "You'll get your damn money.  And I'm not asking you to change my hours, just the venue."

Steepling his fingers, Angel shook his head.  "You're at Temple Flesh next week," he said with finality.

Grinding her teeth together, Buffy forced back her reply.  She needed this job.  "I can't work at Temple Flesh," she replied emphatically.

"You can," he said, "and you will."

She hated herself for putting up with his attitude, but she needed him to relent.  What little social status she had left was dependent upon not being seen working as a bouncer at Temple Flesh.  Angel's new club was bound to attract a lot of attention, and Buffy knew that Sunday and Cordelia would most certainly be there.  She would never live down the humiliation of being spotted by them.  "Please, Angel," she said quietly in ShadowTongue.

He scowled at her gentle request.  If she had fought with him, he would have fought back, but her submission gave him pause.  "What's in it for me?" he snapped.

Buffy was careful not to smile.  Angel was decidedly a pain in the ass, but he was also a consummate businessman.  As long as she could reason with him, she might just get her way.  "A good Slayer," she said.  Angel was quiet for a very long time, obviously waiting for her to elaborate.  She did so with more than a little hesitation.  "I know that you police the local demon world," she took a deep breath.  "You're short handed around your clubs because Groo and Gun have been filling in for Faith, who can't seem to manage two consecutive days of patrolling a week.  If you take me off the Temple Flesh rotation, I can pick up Faith's slack and you have your two bouncers back."

Angel shrugged.  "A trained Slayer would definitely be a bonus, but you are not a trained Slayer, Buffy.  You've never had a Watcher.  You've never had any formal Council education at all."

Squaring her shoulders, Buffy replied, "Willow told me that Wesley is a Watcher.  I can't imagine that he's so busy with Faith that he couldn't give me a few pointers."

Angel watched her through slitted eyes.  "You would honestly be willing to train as a Slayer?" he asked.

Buffy nodded.  "Yes."

He kept himself from smiling.  This was exactly what he had wanted all along, but he never dared dream that Buffy would come to this conclusion without significant coercion.  Apparently there was a great deal more natural instinct buried within her than her earlier actions seemed to indicate.  "Fine," he said blandly, "I'll have Wesley contact you to set up a training schedule.  As of today, you're no longer a bouncer.  Getting you into shape as a Slayer will be a full time job."

*****

Buffy groaned and slowly opened one eye to see Wesley standing over her, quarterstaff in hand.  "Ow!" she said with a glare.

"Ms. Summers," he said haughtily, "if you would stop dropping your shoulder, you would likely stop landing on the floor."

With a growl, Buffy swept her quarterstaff in an arc, causing Wesley to land solidly on his behind on the practice mat next to her.  She smiled as he grunted in discomfort.  "That was entirely uncalled for," he huffed.

Buffy grinned unrepentantly as she hopped to her feet.  She did, however, offer him a hand up.  He accepted with a frown and they resumed their fighting stances.  Wesley was covered in protective padding while Buffy wore a pair of black yoga pants and a dark gray sports bra.  She had spent twelve hours a day for the last ten days practicing with Wesley, and even with her remarkable healing ability, she had the bumps and bruises to prove it.  Despite his prudish English nature, Wesley was a decent fighter.  She spent the first couple of days getting bruised by a variety of weaponry.

But she wasn't a Slayer for nothing.  Her learning curve for martial arts and weapons training was great.  For the last several days, she had been seriously putting Wesley through his paces.  With any luck she would be able to start patrolling soon.

As she had learned, Angel's base of operations for his preternatural connections was a former hotel called the Hyperion.  The large basement had been converted entirely to training space and it was where she spent the majority of her time.  When they weren't training, Wesley made her take calls and file leads and tips.  Buffy wasn't too excited about the secretary gig, but Wesley assured her that there was no way she was going to be allowed to patrol without a working knowledge of basic detective skills.

Wesley broke stance and experimentally prodded his wounded posterior.  "I think perhaps we should call it a day," he said with a frown.

"Fine by me," Buffy said, hurrying to return her quarterstaff to the weapons cabinet.

"Not so fast," Wesley called after her, "you're on phones until midnight."

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed.  She arrived at the Hyperion at nine in the morning and it was shortly after five in the evening.  Surely there had to be some law against having to spend fifteen hours at work on a Saturday.  She turned and looked at Wesley, but his expression let her know that there was no point in trying to get out of it.  Maybe knocking him on his butt hadn't been such a bright idea.

*****

A quick shower later, Buffy sat at a stool by the front desk, legs swinging impatiently.  Her elbows rested on the battered countertop and her chin was cradled in her upturned palms.  Bo-ring.  Gunn and Groo were both out on calls thanks to Faith being MIA yet again.  In the week and a half at the Hyperion, Buffy had still not managed to catch a glimpse of her sister Slayer.

Buffy had read through Faith's file several times trying to find any sort of common bond that would explain how they both came to be Called.  Her efforts were largely fruitless.  There was nothing in their backgrounds that overlapped.  Faith was born to a homeless teen mother in a rough Boston neighborhood.  She was taken into state custody at the age of five and shuffled around from foster home to foster home until she ran away for good at fifteen.  She was a high school dropout and her police record was longer than Buffy's arm.

Physically it was the same story.  Faith was brunette, of average height and possessed a body built for sin.  The "built for sin" part was actually in the notes of her file.  Buffy wasn't good enough with the Angel Investigations staff's handwriting to know who had penned that particular phrase, but she intended to find out.  For some reason she cared not to examine too closely, she hoped it was one of the guys and not Angel.  The ironic part was that it was most likely Angel.  It was totally his style, bawdy, visceral and unapologetic.  It took no great stretch of the imagination to theorize that Faith was given a long leash because she had something going on with the boss.  But Buffy didn't want to mull over that possibility.  Simply thinking about it made her grouchy.

The long and the short of it was that Angel Investigations was hopelessly overworked and understaffed.  No one seemed to know Faith's whereabouts.  Buffy wasn't Kreskin, but she could read between these lines.  Willow wasn't embellishing when she said Faith was a mess.  For the staff to be willing to pull double duty to cover her absences - and not even bitch about it - she had to be a lot of trouble.  Even if she was sleeping with Angel, you would think that someone would bother trying to track her down.  Of course, if ol' Wes was as charming to Faith as he was to her, Buffy could understand the ducking out of work.

Not that Buffy could afford to duck out of work.  She still owed Angel several hundred dollars.  And as much as she was loath to admit, she liked training.  Well, okay, she didn't like sitting at the front desk waiting for the phone to ring, but every now and then she got to kick Wesley's ass and that was decidedly enjoyable.  It made her feel ... right - like she was finally doing what she was meant to be doing.  Buffy had never realized how much was missing from her life until she started training as a Slayer.

The door opened and Buffy automatically grabbed a pen and paper before looking up.  Her "polite" face disappeared into a wry grin as she saw who had entered.  "My, my," she said, "I didn't know that you slummed down here."

Angel's grin was positively wicked as he replied, "Ionuin, I would never consider you slumming."

Buffy's cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she wondered what had caused her to bait him with her initial statement.  It wasn't like her to play with Angel.  Of course, their relationship had gone through several major changes recently.  She still wasn't entirely sure what their dynamic was at the moment.  They weren't Buttercup and Westley, but they weren't mortal enemies either.

"The guys are out on calls and Wes is getting friendly with the BenGay," Buffy noted blandly, choosing to ignore his cheeky comment.

Angel nodded and walked behind the desk to study the large wipe board where all current cases were cataloged.  Gunn and Groo definitely had their hands full.  It would be a real help once Buffy was up to speed.  "Quiet as usual, I see," he said sardonically.

Buffy frowned.  The backlog went on for weeks and showed no signs of tapering off.  Of course, if they weren't so woefully understaffed it wouldn't be such an issue.  Angel most definitely was not a pushover.  He was one of the most relentless taskmasters in the entire history of pain-in-the-ass bosses.  Buffy couldn't help but entertain her earlier uncomfortable thoughts.  "Why do you keep Faith around?" she blurted out.

Turning slowly, Angel looked Buffy up and down, his expression guarded.  Buffy fidgeted nervously on the chair.  Why did she have to ask him that?  She wanted to pound her forehead onto the counter, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

"The schedule of your fellow employees is not your concern," he said with finality.

"Evasive much?" she snarked before she could stop herself.

In spite of himself, Angel let the barest hint of a smile slip as he looked at her grumpy countenance.  "Why do you want to know?" he asked, stepping closer.

Buffy sputtered incoherently for a few moments before finding a convincing argument.  "Because I'm sick of sitting here babysitting the phones," she said.  "It's Saturday night.  I have a life, you know."

"Oh really?" he drawled unpleasantly.  "Is there a hot date that you're missing?"

His snide statement did everything possible to rile her and Buffy nearly growled.  "Not that it's any of your business, but yes," she snapped.  It wasn't true, of course.  She did have a social engagement, but the word hot didn't really figure into it.  Buffy was so busy with work and training and starting her new life that she most certainly didn't have time for a budding romance.

Angel's face shuttered, but Buffy had the definite impression that he was very unhappy.  The realization only irritated her further.  He had yet to make any sort of explanation about Faith.  He didn't have any right to be worried about her personal life.  "You never answered me," Buffy said, sticking her chin out defiantly.  "Why do you keep Faith around?  It doesn't really seem your style to retain dead weight."

"A Slayer," he drawled, "even an insufficiently motivated one, is never dead weight."  His expression softened and the barest hint of a grin curved his lips.  He took several steps, so they were less than a foot apart.  Leaning in conspiratorially, he added softly, "And don't worry, Ionuin, you're the only Slayer on the A.I. payroll with me wrapped around her little finger."  He winked lasciviously before turning on his heel and walking away.

Buffy stared blankly at his back as he headed for the door.  Her mind tried to make sense of what he said.  Wrapped around her finger?  Angel?  She wasn't sure if she should be insulted.  Had he been making fun of her?  There was no way he was serious.  But his mood hadn't been teasing either, at least not the caustic way he usually teased.  It was more akin to I-like-you teasing.  Like little boys pulling little girls' hair on the playground.

Buffy swallowed audibly as she dropped her vision to the countertop and tried to doodle on her notepad.  She was so confused it was beginning to make her head hurt.  And she still had to see Ford later tonight.  She groaned aloud.

[End Chapter 6]


	8. Chapter 8

"You look good," Ford said with a genuine smile.  He looked around the dim interior of the tiny shop.  Given its proximity to the unsavory part of town, he wasn't expecting to see anyone they knew, but it never hurt to check.  Speaking sotto voce despite the lack of familiar faces, he said, "Sunday has some story going around about you getting a botched nose job."

Buffy frowned, concentrating on tearing open the woefully inadequate sugar packets and pouring them one after another into her steaming mug.  She had always been a night owl, but functioning well at two in the morning was facilitated considerably by large amounts of sugar and caffeine.  "I've been busy," she replied.

Ford slid into the booth and drummed his fingers nervously on the scarred tabletop.  Buffy looked at him in obvious annoyance and he stopped.  "What exactly are you sugaring to death over there, Summers?" he asked.  "Cocoa?"

"Coffee," she replied wryly.  "We're in a coffee shop.  Appreciate the symmetry."

Ford frowned.  "You don't like coffee," he said.  Not, he noted, that her beverage necessarily had much in common with coffee.  From where he stood, it looked equal parts coffee, milk and sugar.

"I've gotten used to it," she replied blandly.  "It's all Angel stocks at the office.  Cheap bastard."

Ford was very quiet.  Buffy knew she should feel guilty for casually dropping the name of Ford's most hated enemy.  But she didn't.  Ford had no compunctions earlier about mentioning Sunday.  And at the moment, Buffy was not in the mood to contemplate her withering social status.

"You, uh ... ," he trailed off, "spending a lot of time with Roarke lately?"

She shrugged.  "Depends," she said.  "I work for him.  Sometimes he's around, sometimes he's not."

"You work for Roarke?" Ford asked incredulously.

Buffy looked at him seriously.  "After our fun little interlude with the cops, I had a major falling out with my father," she explained.  "I left home.  That's why I haven't been around lately, not because I had a bad plastic surgeon.  I'm out on my own and Angel took pity on me and gave me a job."

"Oh," Ford said lamely.  "I didn't know."

"I know you didn't know," Buffy bit out.  "You never even called to check up on me after the cops picked us up."

Ford shifted uneasily in his seat.  "I just ... I figured you'd be fine.  I mean, it's not like your dad was going to let you go to jail."

Shaking her head in disgust, Buffy said, "So that makes everything okay?  I got busted for your stuff and you're completely absolved of guilt because I have a rich father?"

Ford smiled coldly.  "You know as well as I do that money talks."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know anything about that anymore," she said.

"I bet."

Buffy glared at her former boyfriend, unable to conjure any pleasant memories that would remind her why she had ever given him the time of day.  "You can be angry and bitter all you want," she said, "but don't you dare use that tone with me.  I'm sorry that you think Angel is responsible for destroying your family, but there's nothing I can do about that.  I don't have daddy looking out for me anymore.  I have an apartment and a piece of shit car and two jobs."

Ford was quiet as he looked at her.  And he did look at her, seriously, for the first time since he had arrived.  It was more than a month since he last saw her and he could tell now that she had changed.  She didn't look hard ... but somehow he knew she wasn't the bubble headed blonde he used to adore.  There was a somber note to her that he had never before noticed.  She was thinner, more muscled and the dark circles under her eyes were testament to sleepless nights.

He laughed sadly to himself.  "No matter how much I want things to stay the same, they always change," he said.

In spite of her foul mood, Buffy smiled weakly in return.  "We're not the prom king and queen anymore," she added.

He shook his head.  "It was brutal trying to get back on my feet after my dad lost everything, but somehow it seems harder for me to imagine you not being one of the inner circle."

Buffy shrugged.  "I'm not sure I'm used to it either," she admitted grudgingly.

"You were always such a princess," he said.  "Queen B of all the rich bitches at school.  It's strange to think of you not being a part of that anymore."

Cocking an eyebrow, Buffy said, "I don't know that I'm ready to give up the crown just yet."

Ford smiled.  "You never could let Sunday win."

Buffy laughed.  He was right.  But her laughter died away leaving something much more vulnerable.  "I don't know, Ford," she said.  "I don't know if I can even compete with her and Cordelia anymore.  It used to be so effortless, but now ... "

He snorted.  "You're still you, Buffy."

"Maybe," she said without conviction.  "But who I am is changing.  My world used to be so steady, so one dimensional and now ... I'm afraid I don't know how to be that girl anymore."

Ford took a deep breath and let it out.  "What are you doing for Roarke?" he asked, trying not to choke on the name.

Buffy smiled wryly.  "I'm a Slayer," she said.

Laughing, Ford said, "No, really.  What are you doing?"

"I'm a Slayer," she repeated.

Ford looked at her and realized she was being serious.  He whistled through his teeth.  Being well acquainted with magicks and sorcery, he knew exactly what a Slayer was.   "A Slayer, wow," he said.  "I never knew."

Buffy looked nonplussed.  "Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly comfortable with it," she said.  "But it beats the hell out of working fast food."

"And Roarke gets a Slayer on his payroll," Ford replied sardonically.  "How convenient."

"Two, actually."

"Huh?"

"Two Slayers," Buffy said.  "I'm not the only one.  We both work for Angel."

He smiled mirthlessly.  "How nice."

"I'm not asking you to like it," she said.  "I'm just telling you how it is."

"Touché," he conceded.  "I guess that explains the recent identity crisis."

She nodded, taking a sip of the sweet, warm liquid.  "I'm getting pretty good at being a Slayer," she said.  "But I think my rich bitch game is suffering as a result."

"Aw, Summers," he said, "you'll always be a bitch to me."

Buffy smiled wryly at him and he winked in return.

*****

Buffy groaned, looking over at her roommate as they walked up the street to the Hyperion.  It was late and traffic had dwindled.  Without the passing headlights to illuminate their path, they walked through the shadows between the wells of light under the streetlamps.  "Not that I'm trying to ditch you, Will - because I'm not - but this is getting so old.  When is Wes going to let me patrol by myself?"

Willow frowned sympathetically.  "Buffy, it's not like Wesley's trying to punish you.  He just wants you to, you know, be safe is all."

"I'm safe," Buffy groused.  "I'm so safe I should be playing for the Dodgers."

"It won't be forever," Willow offered.

"Forever, such an interesting concept."

Buffy and Willow both came to an abrupt stop, staring at the man who had materialized in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Uh ... " Buffy droned, staring at the stranger.  He was tall with shoulder length dark hair and piercing blue eyes.  His skin was so pale he seemed to glow in the dim light.  Demon.  He was definitely a demon.  She should be finding a stake.  But he was kinda hot.

The man frowned.  "You humans are such odd creatures," he mused, smiling just enough to flash fang.  The rest of his face remained perfectly human.

Buffy pulled the stake out of her pocket, falling back in a fighting stance.

The man chuckled and then seemed to catch himself, sobering his expression.  He inclined his head in a slight bow.  "Ah yes," he said, "the Slayer.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Dracula."

Buffy blinked several times.  She and Willow looked at each other.  "Get out!" Buffy exclaimed with a smile.

*****

"Well, um," Willow stammered, "can I get you anything?  Uh, coffee, soda, maybe something more ... viscous?"

Dracula smiled.  It was almost a leer.  His gaze lingered on her neck.  "Are you offering?" he asked with his lilting accent.  Under the harsh lights of the Hyperion's lobby, his mystique should have faded.  He should have looked like a dork in a cape with too much white makeup and a bad euro-trash accent.  But he didn't.

"Offering ... " she repeated rather dreamily.  Willow shook her head vigorously, stepping backwards several paces.  "No thrall!" she chided.  "Bad vampire!"  Turning on her heel, she grabbed Buffy's wrist and tried to make a beeline for Wes' office.  Buffy didn't budge.  "Come on," Willow hissed.

Shaking her head, Buffy extricated herself from Willow's grip.  "Go ahead," she said firmly.  "I'm a Slayer.  It makes me immune."

Willow didn't look convinced, but she couldn't really force Buffy to do anything.  With a huff, she turned back to the office.

Buffy smiled, watching her roommate leave and then turned her attention back to Dracula.  He accepted her perusal without comment, a small half-smile playing on his lips.  "You do not fear me," he noted.

"I'm a Slayer," she replied with bravado.

"So you are," he mused, his expression becoming less casual and more predatory.  He took several steps toward her.  She had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze.  "You are magnificent," he said, looking her over.

She blushed, but couldn't look away.  "I bet you say that to all the Slayers," she replied awkwardly.

"Pull back your hair," he commanded gently.

"Look," she said, "if you think you can just waft in here with your music video hair and ..."  she trailed off, looking at him blankly.  Her hand moved up to brush her hair back from her neck.

He moved in even closer, his fingers barely touching her jaw.  "I have searched the world over for a creature like you, a creature whose darkness could rival my own."

"You even think of touching her with your darkness and I promise you that your flashy gypsy tricks won't stop you from fitting neatly in a doggie bag.  Permanently."

Dracula turned quickly, all of his attention focused on Angel.  He released Buffy from his thrall so abruptly that she staggered.  Angel strode down the stairs and clamped a hand around her upper arm, steadying her as he pulled her behind him.

"She," Angel growled, nodding toward the still dazed Buffy, "is off limits."

"My most humble apologies," Dracula said, bowing. "I did not know she was spoken for."

"Now you do," Angel countered darkly.  "And you will be on your best behavior around all of my employees."

Dracula smiled tightly.  "Understood," he said.

Behind Angel, Buffy blinked quickly, trying to clear out her head.

"I do business out of Caritas," Angel said tersely, "not the Hyperion.  If you wish to see me, you will contact me there."

Dracula nodded, obviously displeased with his treatment, but he held his tongue.  After a short bow, he turned and left the Hyperion.

Angel swiveled around, facing Buffy.  "What the hell were you doing?" he demanded.

She stared at him blankly for a moment and then frowned.  "What do you mean, what was I doing?  I was talking to him."

Angel's teeth ground together.  "He's a vampire.  You're a Slayer.  You two don't chat."

"Oh come on," Buffy scoffed, "he's Dracula!  He's like bigger than Tom Cruise."

"He's a fruity gypsy vampire," Angel bit out.  "One who had you under his thrall."

"Thrall?"

"Subversion of free will," Angel explained tightly.  "He could have compelled you to do anything."

"Vampires don't have ... mind powers," Buffy said unconvincingly.

"He's a gypsy," Angel corrected.  "He has a lot of tricks that other vampires lack."

"You're a gypsy," Buffy pointed out.

"So?"

"So maybe I shouldn't talk to you," she offered petulantly.  "Maybe you have thrall."

Angel rolled his eyes.  "Please," he derided.  "I don't need thrall to get women into bed."

Buffy glowered.  She didn't want to think about Angel sleeping around.  She decided to change the subject.  "Well, if he's so dangerous, why was he looking for you anyway?"

"He's dangerous to you," Angel qualified, "not me.  He needs my help.  Apparently some upstart vamp is trying to take over his territories and he wants to put an end to it."

"So why's he asking you?" Buffy pressed.  "Getting rid of a vamp is more my line of work.  And don't even think about lending me out."

"First off, it would be hard for you to work for him considering that I'm not letting you go anywhere near him again."  He continued quickly before Buffy had a chance to voice her outrage at his heavy handed comment, "And secondly, he doesn't want Spike dusted.  He wants to make an example of him."

Buffy was quiet for a moment, considering him.  "An example?"

"Oh, Ionuin, use a little imagination," he said silkily.  "There are a lot of existences more unpleasant than death."

"You are  _so_  broken," Buffy said with disgust.

He smiled crookedly.  "And yet you love me anyway," he said with a wink, turning and heading for the door before she could respond.

The doors had already closed by the time Buffy half-heartedly yelled "Jerk!"  She watched the doors, but did not follow.  "And I don't love you," she muttered under her breath, more out of habit than any actual vehemence.  Her mood completely soured, she headed for Wesley's office.  The remaining week before she could patrol was going to be a long one.

[End Chapter 7]


	9. Chapter 9

"Very good, Ms. Summers!"

Buffy was breathing hard, staring at the quickly dissipating cloud of ash.  Ash that had been a vampire.  Ash that had been a vampire very recently.  Like three seconds ago recently.

"I rule!"  Buffy said, punching one fist towards the sky in a very respectable imitation of Lester Burnham.  She had only been actively patrolling for two weeks and already it felt like an extension of her being.  It was like walking or talking.  The love of the hunt was in her veins.  She was a force of nature.

Wesley's expression was markedly more reserved.  "Let's not get too smug," he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes.  That man had the entire British flag stuck up his ass.  But she didn't care.  This was a good day.  She was finally patrolling, finally using her Slayerness for something positive.  And she felt amazing.  She was alive, truly alive.  Even Wesley couldn't ruin that high.

*****

Buffy bounced up the stairs to Angel's private study and pounded once on the door before pushing it open.  She stopped just inside the threshold, staring at Angel and the woman.  Her natural high disappeared in an instant. It took her several moments to find her tongue.  "Hello," Buffy managed to say to the interloper.  No one would have confused it for a warm greeting.

The woman twisted in her chair to look at Buffy and turned to Angel who sat behind his desk, face perfectly placid.  "Mr. Roarke?" she asked hesitantly, her grip tightening on the pencil in her hand.

"Fred, this is Buffy Summers.  She works for me.  Buffy, this is Winifred Burkle.  She works for me."  Angel smiled at his deliberate evasiveness.

Buffy looked at the young woman seated in the chair across from Angel.  The stack of folders on her lap indicated that this was definitely business and not a social call, but Buffy couldn't quell the irrational anger that burned inside.  "And people think I'm skinny," she muttered.  Fred was dressed conservatively in a long dark skirt and a plain blouse.  Her hair was pulled back and she wore a pair of decidedly boring glasses.  She looked like a school marm.  She looked harmless.  But what on earth was she doing alone with Angel in his house?

For a moment, Buffy reconsidered her own outfit.  The pink spaghetti strap tanktop and black pants were fine, especially with the matching bracelets, but the black stocking cap with rhinestones that spelled out "bomb" was playful.  At the moment, she had no desire to seem playful. Nonplussed, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Angel with an expectant look.

"Is there something you need, Ionuin?" he asked lightly.

"I need to talk to you," she bit out in ShadowTongue, glaring at Fred.  "Alone."

Angel smiled, slowly turning to face the woman in the chair.  "Fred, would you please wait outside," he said.  "We'll finish working on the documents as soon as I have a word with Ms. Summers."

Buffy did an admirable job of glaring a hole in Fred's back as she dutifully went to wait in the hall.  "Who's she?" Buffy demanded.

Angel grinned broadly.  "You're in a mood tonight," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together over his chest.  "What do you want?"

"No, really," Buffy pressed, "you're not getting out of this one.  Who is she?  Is she a new Slayer?  Do you just keep collecting them?  I get it, you have ten Slayers but I'm the only one that actually has to work.  The others just lounge around your mansion eating bonbons and sucking your toes with their bodies built for sin - "

Angel lifted a hand to silence her tirade.  "Winifred Burkle is my new assistant," he said.  "Wesley had filled that function, but since he's been spending so much of his time with you, I had to hire someone else."

Buffy took a deep breath and her anger sputtered out.  She blushed.  "Oh," she said.

"Now, are you going to tell me why you showed up at my house with your designer panties in a wad?"

Frowning, Buffy said, "Never mind.  It's stupid.  I can't believe I even came over here."

She started to walk away, but before she made it to the door, Angel grabbed her wrist, gently so as not to damage any of her bracelets.  "Buffy," he said in ShadowTongue.

Reluctantly, she turned around, trying not to let on how much his predator fast movements disturbed her.  Gently, she tugged her wrist out of his grip.  "Okay," she huffed, not meeting his eyes, "it's my parents."

Angel's expression betrayed the fact that he had been hoping for something more salacious.  "What about them?"

"They want me over for dinner tomorrow night," she said.

"And?"

Buffy studied the toes of her shoes intently.  Finally she let out a great sigh.  "And it's the first time I've been home since I moved out and I wondered if I could borrow a different car from you to drive over there," she admitted.

"You don't like the piece you're driving now?" he asked deadpan, knowing full well that she hated it.

"No, it's not that," she stuttered.  "It's just ... I don't ... I mean I don't want them to worry.  I just know my dad.  He'll see the company car and he'll freak and he'll ask me how many miles it has and if it has airbags and what sort of consumer reports ratings it got and - "

"Yes."

"and he'll want to make sure that I wear my seatbelt and he'll probably look into getting one of those little black box things for cars and he'll find out how I really drive and before you know it, I'll be in one of those defensive driving classes and  ..."  Buffy fell silent and looked at Angel.  "Did you say yes?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Oh," she said.

Angel walked over to his desk and rummaged around.  He tossed her a set of keys and said, "You can borrow the Audi."

She pursed her lips together and smiled her sweetest little girl smile.  "I really like the Beamer," she said quietly.

Angel frowned.  "You can borrow the Audi," he repeated.

Buffy smiled genuinely.  "Thank you, Angel," she said in ShadowTongue.

"You're welcome, Ionuin," he replied in their language.

*****

"You're too pale.  You look like death warmed over."

"Rupert!"

Buffy rolled her eyes at her father's comment and took a sip of her water while Jenny admonished him.  Dinner was strained to say the least.  Even her two younger siblings were keeping quiet, which was quite a feat for them.  Buffy agreed to attend a family meal with the understanding that she wouldn't be given the third degree.  Her father had been amazingly well behaved until dessert was served.

"No, Jenny, I will not be silenced like a child," Rupert huffed, his feathers obviously ruffled.  "Buffy looks pale."

Setting down her water glass, Buffy fixed her father with a wry expression.  "I am pale," she admitted.  "Don't get out in the sun much anymore.  For the last couple of weeks, Wes had me training by nine in the morning and working phones until midnight.  Though I suppose that will change.  I mean I can't really keep training at nine if he expects me to patrol all night too.  I need to talk to him about that."

Buffy's moment of evil glee was cut short by the expression on her father's face.  She had wanted to torture him just the tiniest little bit, but the look of abject terror that darkened his features at the mention of her patrolling made her regret her words.

"P-patrolling?" he sputtered, his own complexion now far chalkier than Buffy's.

Buffy's expression was contrite.  "Yes," she admitted, fighting to keep her voice from quavering.  "I'm a Slayer.  I've been avoiding that responsibility for three years and it's about time for me to start pulling my own weight."

Giles pasty pallor was replaced by vibrant red as he stood up, sending his chair skittering backwards on the parquet floor of the formal dining room.  "Pulling your own weight?" he raged, trembling with the force of his anger.  "Is that what this new Watcher is telling you?  That you're not pulling your own weight?"

"Rupert, please," Jenny said, laying a gentle hand on his arm.  "I don't think that's what Buffy meant."

He shook off her grip, his eyes glittering with outrage.  "You weren't taking your status as a Slayer seriously enough, is that it?" he seethed.  "Because I am pretty goddamned sure that when I found my daughter unconscious in a pool of her own blood that the whole damned situation was quite serious!"  He shook his head in disbelief before throwing down his napkin and stalking from the room.

Jenny, Buffy, Xander and Dawn sat there in absolute silence.  Far down the hallway, they heard the door to Giles' study slam shut.

"I never should have come," Buffy said tensely, her voice thick with tears.

"No, Buffy," Jenny said firmly.  "This is your home.  Rupert is upset, but you have to understand that his anger is not with you.  It's with the situation."

Buffy looked at her stepmother incredulously.  "Could have fooled me," she said.

*****

"Ah yes," Buffy heard Wesley saying as she pushed open the doors of the Hyperion, "Ms. Summers would be happy to assist you."

Buffy's head snapped up at mention of her name and she saw Wesley standing with a man and woman in their mid-forties.  They were both obviously upset.  Buffy nodded.  "Let me take care of a few things, I'll just be a sec," she said.

She hadn't planned on working.  She wasn't even on the rotation at Angel Investigations tonight, but after her fight with her father, she really needed to get her mind off things.  She had been planning to work out, but Wes was overbooked as usual.  Not that she really cared, anything was better than sitting around rehashing the evening's events.  She jogged to the locker room and changed out of her 'meeting the parents' outfit and into her regular Slaying outfit of worn jeans, a white tank, and a flannel button-up.

Five minutes later, she escorted the couple, Bob and Kathy Newton, into Wesley's office and shut the door.  She took a seat in Wes's chair.  "So, how can Angel Investigations help you this evening?" she asked.

"It's our - " the woman began before breaking down into tears.

The man did his best to comfort his near hysterical wife, but his efforts were largely useless.  "It's our daughter," he said, "Cassie.  She's missing.  The police say we can't do anything until she's been gone for at least forty-eight hours, but we can't just sit here.  This isn't like Cassie.  She doesn't just take off.  She's a good girl."

Tears pricked Buffy's eyes as she watched the man before her.  He was barely holding together, so worried about his missing child that he was trembling all over.  He was merely a father who wished to protect his little girl.  Just like Rupert Giles.  "Okay," Buffy said, "I need some basic information.  How old is Cassie?  When was the last time you saw her?  Does she have any usual hangouts?  Do you have a current picture of her?"

Buffy took notes as Mr. Newton answered all of her questions.  The look of unbridled anguish on his face as he removed his daughter's school picture from his wallet had tears streaming down Buffy's cheeks.

"Don't worry Mr. and Mrs. Newton," she promised.  "I'll find your daughter and bring her home safe."

*****

"What the hell is goin' on?" Gunn asked as he killed the truck's engine and joined Buffy, Groo and Wesley on the sidewalk.

Buffy handed each of them a photocopy of the picture she took from Mr. Newton.  "Her name is Cassie," she said.  "She's fifteen, blonde, about five, three.  She was last seen on this corner.  As we all know, this is prime hunting territory for a local baddie named Mr. Trick.  We have to assume that he or one of his boys nabbed Cassie."

Gunn shook his head in disbelief.  "You've got to be kiddin' me," he said.  "You pulled me off of my case to come all the way down here and help you?"

Shocked by his gruff demeanor, Buffy sputtered, "Uh, yeah."

Gunn wadded up the paper, his face hard.  "This is bullshit.  You may be the Slayer, but let me tell you girl, I've been doin' the work of a Slayer for the last eighteen months.  I've been the one bustin' my ass night after night while you were goin' to the prom and bein' a cheerleader and shit.  Nuh uh.  I am not dropping everything to answer your call like some damn dog."  He turned, reaching for the handle to the truck's door.

Buffy recoiled almost as if he had hit her.  Gunn had always been so nice, so supportive.  His outburst was completely unexpected.

"Gunn," Wesley said, pressing his hand against the truck's door so it could not be opened.  "I don't believe that Buffy was trying to overstep her bounds.  It's merely that with this case, time is of the essence."

"Step off, English," Gunn bit out.  "You think time isn't important to the Lincolns?  You think they won't mind if I take a night off from lookin' for the ghoul that killed their aunt?  You think they'll think this is more important?"

"Gunn-" Wes began.

"No don't, Wesley," Buffy interrupted, her voice hard.  "Don't make excuses for me.  Don't try to explain anything to him."

Gunn, Groo and Wesley all turned to face Buffy who was now obviously angry.  Her jaw was set, her fisted hands rested on her hips in a fighting stance.  "You don't need to understand anything, Charles," she said, her voice rife with condescension.  "You may have been filling in for Faith, but trust me, you're not a Slayer.  You're a grunt and when I say jump you better damn sure ask me how high."

There was absolute silence from all of the males.  Even at her most productive, Faith had never imbued the essence of a Slayer to this extent.  She had never commanded respect the way Buffy did now.

Gunn swallowed harshly and nodded.  "Yes, ma'am," he said with a sly grin.

Wesley's face broke into a grin too, though his was of obvious pride.  Buffy did not doubt that he felt himself completely responsible for her transformation.  While she couldn't discount how much he helped her, she couldn't give him all the credit.  She wasn't exactly sure what had come over her, she only knew that she had to find Cassie Newton.  For whatever reason, it was deathly important to her.

Buffy picked up the wadded paper Gunn dropped and handed it to him.  "Her name is Cassie," she said.  "We have to find her.  Mr. Trick's bad news.  Slick.  It will take all of us to track him and find Cassie."

Gunn studied the photograph.  "How long she been missin'?"

"Since last night."

"B, you know the odds aren't good," Gunn said quietly.

Buffy's teeth ground together.  "Her parents say she's a fighter," she said.  "We'll find her."

"Buffy - " Gunn said gently, reaching for her.

She backpedaled, glaring at him.  "We will find her," she repeated clearly.  She held up her cell phone.  "You all know the drill, if you find anything you call into the office and Willow will page everyone out to your location.  Don't play hero on this one.  I need everyone to be safe."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

[End Chapter 8]


	10. Chapter 10

"Dammit!  Dammit!  Dammit!" Buffy cursed, pounding her fist against the concrete pillar.

Gunn came running around the corner and skittered to a halt several feet behind Buffy.  His harsh intake of breath was loud in the relative quiet of the alley.  "Shit," he said under his breath.  Twisting around, he yelled over his shoulder.  "Over here."

Buffy rested her forehead against the cool concrete, not bothering to turn around.  She heard Groo and Wesley arrive.  Her cell phone fell limply from her fingers.  For a very long time, no one spoke.

"You defeated Mr. Trick," Wesley said, bending down to retrieve her phone.

"Yeah," Buffy muttered.  "I got the vamp."

Wesley reached out to touch Buffy's shoulder but stopped before he made contact.  He didn't know how to make this better.  Cassie Newton's body was scant inches from Buffy's feet, the young girl's eyes staring blankly into the night.  Her death was recent.  Very recent.  Mr. Trick had a reputation for being flashy.  No doubt he had waited until Buffy's arrival to kill his prey.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Buffy blamed herself for not saving Cassie.  Wesley knew the score.  Sometimes you won and sometimes you lost.  It didn't make it easier, but it was the cold truth.  Buffy tried, she killed the vampire.  It wasn't her fault the girl died first.  They had all been scouring the area for the missing teen.  Buffy was simply the one who got to her first.

Wesley bent over to grab the dead girl's feet and Buffy stopped him.  "Don't," she ground out.

Straightening up slowly, Wesley met her gaze.

Tears stained her cheeks, but her expression was deadly.  "Don't touch her," Buffy said.

"Ms. Summers," Wesley said as calmly as possible, "I know it is difficult, but we must ensure she does not rise as a vampire."

"I know that, Wesley," she snapped.  "I'll do it.  Leave her alone."

"What's going on here?"

Buffy and Wesley both turned to see Angel watching them with slitted eyes.  No doubt he knew when Buffy had the others paged out to her location, though why he felt the need to check up on things was a mystery.  He was dressed for the club in tailored black slacks and a long sleeved black button up shirt over a white wifebeater.  His attire looked very out of place among the muck and mire of the seedy alley.  The sharp contrast of Angel and his environment snapped Buffy back to reality.

She dropped her gaze, studying the weathered concrete.  She was all too aware of how much things had changed.  Three months ago, she would have been at a party, exerting obscene amounts of energy to outdo Sunday.  She would have been dressed in clothes that cost more than her monthly rent.  She would have been happily oblivious to all the horrors that went bump in the night.  No longer.  Now it was Saturday night and she was standing in an alley in the worst part of town arguing over a dead body.

Buffy laughed shrilly to herself.  The others stared blankly.  It wasn't funny.  It really wasn't.  But it was.  What the hell was she doing?  One minute she was the most popular girl in high school, the prom queen, the cheerleader, the perfect princess that every guy wanted to date and every girl wanted to be.  Now she was covered in dirt and blood and vampire dust, breaking her father's heart, fighting over the rights to decapitate a corpse.

A corpse that shouldn't have been a corpse.  Buffy wasn't a princess any more, but she was definitely a long way from being a real Slayer.  A real Slayer would have arrived in time.  A real Slayer would have taken out Mr. Trick weeks ago and avoided this whole situation.  A real Slayer would have won.  She was supposed to save people, supposed to make a difference.  She was a failure.  Again.  She slumped against the pillar.

"Take care of the body," Angel barked to Wesley.

Buffy didn't argue and neither did the others.  Wesley grabbed the girl's legs as Gunn got her shoulders and Groo lowered the tailgate on the truck.  Buffy didn't look as they hefted the body into the bed.  Cassie Newton's parents would never know what happened to their daughter.  They would never have closure.  They would never be able to put flowers on her grave or mourn her properly.  Buffy heard the engine roar to life and listened numbly as they drove off.

Tentatively, Angel stepped in closer.  "You did your job," he said quietly.

Turning, she looked up.  His expression was oddly gentle.  Buffy laughed.  "Oh yeah," she spat, "I did a wonderful job.  Gee, look how Buffy finds the dead bodies.  I'm like a fucking spaniel or something."

Frowning at her sarcastic comment, Angel said, "You dusted the vamp.  That's your job."

Dusted the vampire.  Ha!  Buffy was certain that Cassie's parents couldn't care one way or the other if the vamp was dead.  Buffy broke her own father's heart already this night and now she had to go break Cassie's father's heart as well.

It was more than she could take.  She screamed.  Planting her hands in the middle of Angel's chest, she pushed him backwards several feet.  Her expression was feral as she faced him.  "My job is to save people," she snarled.  "Killing vamps is an added bonus, but the big picture is that the Slayer protects lives.  I didn't do my job!  I'm a joke."

Angel watched her warily.  There was so much rage and pain on her face.  He honestly hadn't imagined that she would take her first failure this hard.  Slowly his vision ran over her and he hissed.  "Jesus Christ, Buffy," he said.  "What did you do?"

Following his line of vision, Buffy looked down at her leg.  She stared at it mutely, like it wasn't part of her.  Most of her pant leg was soaked with a fluid that looked almost black in the dim lighting.  "Oh yeah," she said, "I forgot about that part.  Before I dusted the vamp, he managed to get me with my own stake."

Mindless of the dirt on his expensive pants, Angel knelt in front of Buffy, grimacing as he looked at her upper thigh.  There was a hole in her jeans on the outside of her thigh and the wound looked very bad.  "You were stabbed," he said.

"That's what I just said," she replied dryly.

He glared up at her.  "This is serious, Ionuin," he snapped.  "It's deep.  We have to get this bleeding stopped."

He grabbed the material of her jeans and Buffy lurched backwards, out of his grasp.  "No," she said, slightly hysterical.  Her hands were splayed over her jeans, like she was afraid he was going to try and wrestle her out of them.

Angel was rather bewildered by her reaction.  He didn't really think that Buffy was afraid he was going to try and take advantage of her while she was bleeding to death.  Her actions weren't making a whole lot of sense.  Then again, she could be going into shock.  "Buffy," he said very slowly, "you're bleeding a lot.  If we don't get it stopped quickly, you're going to be in trouble.  We need to get you to a hospital."

She shook her head.  "I'm fine," she said almost hysterically.  "I'm fine."

Rising to his feet, Angel advanced on her very slowly.  He reached forward and grasped her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eyes.  "If I don't get this bleeding stopped, you are going to die," he said very seriously.

Buffy blinked up at him numbly.

*****

"Puncture wound to the upper thigh," the doctor read.  He shifted his gaze to his patient.  "What happened?" he asked, handing Buffy's chart to the waiting nurse.

"Boating accident," Buffy answered without meeting his gaze.

The doctor turned his attention to Angel.  He shrugged.  "She was like that when I found her," he said evasively, not about to contradict Buffy's version of events.

The doctor was obviously nonplussed; working the night shift in the ER in a very bad part of town, he was used to getting the runaround from his patients.  They could lie about the circumstances, but there was some information he needed.  They were both pale, smeared with blood. "You two been doing drugs?" he asked Angel suspiciously.

Angel bristled, glaring mutely at the doctor.

"You want her to be okay, you better be straight with me," the doctor continued, undaunted.

"She's clean," Angel growled.

The doctor's expression remained skeptical, but he shrugged.  Pulling on latex gloves, he looked at the black shirt tied around Buffy's upper leg.  Angel sat next to the bed in only his wifebeater.  The white fabric was smeared with blood from where he held her against his body while carrying her from his car into the ER.  As the doctor untied the makeshift tourniquet, all Buffy could think was that Angel's ruined shirt probably cost more than the entire bill for this trip to the emergency room - which he would also be footing.

The doctor probed the wound experimentally.  The flow of blood had diminished to a sluggish ooze, but it still looked horrible.  At least what was visible through the hole in her jeans looked bad.  It was impossible to assess the situation as long as she was still wearing the jeans.  The doctor picked up a pair of shears and Buffy stiffened.  "Is there any other way to do this?" she asked.

Frowning, the doctor replied, "I'll take your modesty into account, but this pant leg has to come off.  I can't see to close the wound."

Buffy stared at the doctor for several heartbeats, but finally acquiesced, lying back on the bed.  She turned her head away from Angel and stared at the wall as the doctor and a nurse cut off the pant leg almost high enough that her underwear showed.  Once the material was out of the way, the doctor flushed the wound with water.  Buffy waited for the inevitable.  The doctor's hands were firm but sure as he worked.

She knew the second he saw them.  His hands went still and then concentrated on the inside of her thigh, rather than the outside where the wound was.

"Well," he said quietly.  He took a deep breath.  "Miss, may I see your hands please?"

Without bothering to look at him, Buffy rolled back the sleeves of her ever-present long sleeved shirt and did something she never did under any circumstances.  She bared her wrists.

"I see," the doctor said grimly.

Buffy closed her eyes shut tightly.

The doctor turned to Angel, Buffy's wrist still held loosely in his grasp.  "You're sure tonight was an accident?" the doctor asked.  Angel stared dumbly at the scars.  They were on the insides of both wrists and high on her inner thigh, along her femoral artery.

He went pale as he sat back in his chair.  He didn't want to think about what this meant.  The scars were obviously years old, but he had never been so terrified in his entire life.  He swallowed thickly and looked at the doctor.  "Tonight was an accident," he said firmly.

The doctor reluctantly accepted the explanation and finished his task in relative silence.  It took quite a while to close the wound, and when he finally finished, Buffy was the proud owner of forty-three stitches.  The doctor gave Buffy a tetanus booster, a pain pill and a prescription for antibiotics and more happy drugs.  He also included a strict order to stay off of her feet for at least four weeks, with the added tidbit that she might need physical therapy.  Buffy nodded mutely and the doctor made Angel promise to see that she followed his instructions.

Angel helped Buffy into his car and stopped by an all night pharmacy to have her prescriptions filled.  The entire trip was in perfect silence.  Buffy didn't speak even as Angel lifted her out of the car to carry her up the two flights of stairs to her apartment.  She was exhausted both mentally and physically, otherwise she might have noticed that he held her a little too tightly.  As it was, she was oblivious, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in the achingly comforting scent of him, letting it wrap around her.

Hands full, Angel kicked twice on the heavy steel door of Buffy's apartment.  The various locks made loud thunking noises as Willow flipped them open.  Her eyes went perfectly round as she stared at the huge mass of gauze and sterile tape covering Buffy's thigh.

"She needs to lay down," Angel said evenly.

"Oh, oh yeah," Willow said, shaking herself out of her shock.  Frantic, she preceded Angel through the apartment, flicking on lights and opening the door to Buffy's bedroom.  She hovered as Angel gently lowered Buffy onto her bed, propping her up with pillows.  "Is there anything I can do?" Willow asked, wringing her hands in the doorway.

Slowly, Angel turned.  "Buffy's weapons bag is still in my car," he said, handing her the keys.  Glad for something to do, Willow nodded and disappeared.

Buffy stared blankly at the wall.  Gently, Angel clasped her jaw and made her meet his eyes.  Tears streamed down her cheeks.  "Cassie died because of me," she whispered hollowly.

Angel took a deep breath.  "You're the Slayer, Buffy, not a god.  You don't have control over life and death.  You did your best.  You're still learning.  It will get better."

Buffy snorted, twisting out of Angel's grasp.  "Still learning," she echoed, her voice thick with self-loathing.  "I shouldn't still be learning.  I was Called years ago.  I should know how to do my job.  But I don't.  I'm still a failure.  It's just like before."

"Before?"

Buffy lifted her gaze, staring into the near blackness of his eyes.  "Like when I was first Called," she said bleakly.  "I couldn't save them either.  Cassie ended up just like that little boy."

Angel closed his eyes as understanding blossomed.  Slowly, he reached for Buffy's wrist and held it gently in his grasp.  "Is that when this happened?" he asked, his fingers playing over her scars.

Buffy smiled, but it was merely a baring of teeth.

Angel shook his head, disgusted with himself for being so blind.  "I knew when the new Slayer was Called ... I knew it shouldn't have been possible.  But I didn't dare think ... Your father is a powerful man, I assumed he did something."

"You only get a new Slayer when the old one dies," she said bitterly.

"Ionuin," Angel whispered harshly, pulling Buffy against his chest.

She wanted to fight.  She wanted to hate him and hate herself, but instead, she let him wrap his arms around her and pressed her face tightly against his shoulder.  Once again, the smell of him surrounded her, making her feel safe in a way she did not deserve.  She sobbed so violently that her whole body ached.  He held her, mutely rocking her as she cried out all of her rage, her fear.

She eventually calmed, and Angel laid her back on the pillows, gently brushing her tear damp hair out of her face.  Now that she was somewhat more under control, Buffy was embarrassed.  She wasn't a child and here Angel - of all people - was babying her.  What must he think?  She was so pathetic.  She ruined his evening, ruined his shirt and probably the interior of his BMW.  He ended up carting her all over town, sitting in the emergency room, getting her prescriptions and then carrying her up two flights of stairs.  And to top it all off, he got to be the victim of her emotional outburst.  She had never felt so humiliated.

But while she would have expected Angel to be angry, or at the very least, annoyed, he seemed neither.  On the contrary, he seemed ... worried.  The expression on his face was a muddled mixture of emotions that she hadn't seen since the first time they met.  Fear, pain, tentative hope, need; all of it meshed together into something that pulled at her very soul.

He looked down at her with gentle eyes.  Ever so slowly, he raised his hand and pressed the tips of his fingers to her forehead.  He used his free hand to guide her much smaller one over his heart, holding it there so tightly she could feel the reassuring thud.  "We are the same, Ionuin," he whispered.

Tears glistened in Buffy's eyes.  Never in a million years would she have dreamed Angel was capable of such behavior.  But at the same time, it was so absolutely right.  She felt something inside of herself, the part of her that was being crushed under the weight of guilt and pain, spark to life.  He understood.  He knew the darkness that ate at her soul because it ate at his too.  He was her ally when no one else could be.

Before Buffy could stop herself, she reached out and touched the tips of her fingers to his forehead.  Her fingers trailed lightly over his skin, tracing down the side of his face with one finger.  His eyes fluttered shut.  Gently, Angel's fingers left her forehead and circled around her wandering hand.  Ever so slowly, he turned his face into her palm, kissing it.  She watched with an odd sort of detachment as he kissed her palm, down her wrist to her scar.  Ever so tenderly, he ran his lips along the raised, shiny skin.

Languidly, he opened his eyes and looked at her.  Buffy swallowed hard enough for it to be audible.  Maybe it was the horrific day she had, maybe it was the blood loss or maybe even the pain pill, but she didn't pull her hand out of his grasp.  She didn't sit up or push him away or yell at him.  She didn't try and turn the situation into a joke.  At this moment, she needed him with an intensity that terrified her.

He leaned over her, watching her, lips parted slightly.  Buffy's vision fixed on his lips as her tongue snaked out to wet her own.  Angel's mouth covered hers, soft and warm.  A small moan escaped her as she kissed him back, twining her arms around his neck.

Angel traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, silently begging for entrance.  Curling her fingers into his dark hair, she sighed, opening her mouth for him.  His kiss wasn't like anything she had ever experienced before.  The part of Buffy's brain that wasn't completely lost realized that Angel's physical reputation was well earned.  The thought should have sobered her.  It should have reminded her of the myriad women who paraded through his bed.  It should have reminded her that she swore - both to herself and to him - that hell would freeze over before she became another one of his conquests.

But none of those thoughts could fight their way through the decadent haze of pleasure that his kisses brought.  He whispered her name against her lips before kissing her yet again, harder, deeper, with more desperation than skill.  He was still sitting on the side of her bed, huddled over her supine form like a freezing man around a fire and still it wasn't enough for her.  Buffy whined plaintively and pulled at his shoulders.  Angel broke off the kiss long enough to stretch out on the bed next to her, mindful not to jostle her injured leg.  And then he was kissing her again.

Buffy nearly purred as he kissed his way along her jaw, down her neck.  His upper body was angled over hers and she could feel the delicious heat of him through their clothes.  She trailed her fingers over his bare shoulder, her short fingernails biting into the flesh as Angel pressed kisses beneath her ear.  She arched her upper body against him, pressing the hard points of her nipples into his chest.  But he ignored the blatant invitation, instead settling for another round of long, deep kisses.  His hands caressed her face, her neck, her collarbone.  They disappeared into her long blonde locks.  But they never ventured lower.

Not that Buffy wasn't very distracted and very pleasured, but some part of her noted that for as horrific as his reputation was, Angel was doing an awful good job of minding his manners.  For some reason, this irritated her immensely.  Was she not bad enough for him?  Here she was having her great breakdown and he didn't even have the indecency to take advantage of the situation.  He was supposed to be the insatiable letch, completely lacking in any sort of scruples.

Angel was lying on his side, his upper body touching hers, but below the waist, there was no contact.  Buffy wasn't really in a position to be able to wrap herself around him.  The pain pill was good, but the lidocaine from the stitches was wearing off and she had no desire to move her left leg.  But she needed to know if this was some sort of game for him, if he was merely toying with her.

Twining her fingers through his hair again, she brought his lips to hers and kissed him deeply.  He let her lead, patient while she explored his texture.  She suckled on his tongue and then nipped at his lips.  Laying flat on her back, Buffy didn't have much leverage, so she made him move.  Using her fingers curled through his hair, she pulled him over her so she could reach his neck.  Imitating his earlier actions, she kissed along his jaw to his ear and then down his neck, all the while carefully noting his reaction.  The muscles in his arms were taut and his hands fisted in the covers.  She broke the kiss long enough to peek at his face.  His eyes were shut and his lips were open in a pant.  As she resumed her ministrations on his neck, the idea occurred to her that maybe he wasn't pretending.  There was one sure way to find out.

Careful not to move her injured leg too much, Buffy scooted her hips closer to Angel.  She twined her good leg through his.  His leg automatically wrapped around hers, insinuating itself between her legs.  The change in position pushed his hips into her uninjured upper thigh.  Buffy blushed furiously against his neck as he rubbed against her lightly.  He so was not playing.  He was quite seriously aroused.

Realizing what he was doing, Angel pulled back.  He was still panting, his face slightly flushed.  They looked at each other for several long moments.  Buffy bit down on her bottom lip nervously.  What was she going to say?  What did you say when you suddenly found yourself making out with a man you spent the last three years avoiding?

The answer was ... nothing.  Buffy half expected Angel to make some caustic remark and leave her feeling like an idiot, but he didn't.  He didn't say a word as he settled completely onto his side next to her, his head resting on the pillow inches from hers.  Strange as it seemed, laying there looking into his eyes was somehow more intimate than their shared kisses.  Buffy found herself unable to maintain eye contact.  She closed her eyes and settled back on the pillow.  Angel leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against her temple.

Moments later, he got out of bed and Buffy forced herself not to open her eyes or stupidly reach out for him, regardless of how much she itched to do so.  As it turned out, he was simply switching off the light.  She couldn't disguise a sigh of contentment as he resumed his earlier position, possessively wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Sleep, Ionuin," he whispered.

Buffy smiled, snuggling into his embrace.  For reasons she couldn't fathom, she felt safe there, protected.  In moments, she was asleep.

[End Chapter 9]


	11. Chapter 11

"Why didn't you tell me Buffy tried to kill herself?"

Jenny blinked, bleary eyed at the clock.  "Angel," she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, "it's four thirty in the morning."

"I don't care what goddamn time it is, Janna," he spat in Gaelic.  "Why didn't you tell me?"  Though Buffy was asleep right next to him, Angel wasn't worried about his raised voice waking her.  The prescription pain medication she took ensured that she wouldn't hear his half of the conversation.  And even if she did, Buffy couldn't speak Gaelic.

Jenny, however, was not in a similar position.  She put her hand over the earpiece and looked at her husband's still form.  Luckily, Rupert tended to sleep like the dead.  Toeing on her slippers, Jenny carefully got out of bed and headed into the adjoining master bath.  She quietly closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.  "What's going on, Angel?" she asked.  "Is Buffy in trouble?"

Angel didn't answer, but Jenny could hear his heavy, obviously irritated breathing on the other end of the phone.  When he had himself under control, he said, "There was an accident tonight."

"Oh gods," Jenny gasped, "is Buffy okay?"

"She's fine," Angel answered, his vision traveling over Buffy's sleeping form.  She shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching for him.  As it settled on his thigh, she smiled, sighing as she slipped back into a deep sleep.  Angel's voice gentled and he reassured his sister, "She was hurt, but nothing life threatening.  With her healing abilities she'll be fine in a few days."

"So what's this about then?" Jenny asked, rubbing her eyes wearily.

"I took her to the emergency room tonight," he said, his voice oddly hoarse.  "I saw the scars."

Jenny was quiet for a long time.  This was not a subject that was ever broached in the Giles household.  Angel, especially, had no right to have been informed.  "Nobody knew," she explained unrepentantly.  "Buffy and Rupert both wanted it that way.  Besides, what business is it of yours?"

"Buffy is my business," he said succinctly.

Jenny's lips pursed into a frown that Angel could imagine, even if he could not see it.  "Leave her alone, Angel, "Jenny said.  "That girl has been through more than you can ever imagine and the last thing she needs is you messing with her head."

Angel's jaw muscles clenched and he stifled an instinctive growl at his sister's words.  What right did Janna have to go making proclamations about his intentions toward Buffy?  She didn't know anything about him.  From the ages of four to seventeen, he had no contact with his sister.  Despite their genetic link, Janna did not understand him or his motives.  She never had.  When Janna looked at him, she saw the reckless edge inherited from their mother.  She saw in him the ability to destroy just as their mother had destroyed their own lives.  Angel swallowed harshly, denying to himself the amount of pain his sister's words caused.  His closest relative in this world had no faith in him.  "Nice to know you think so highly of me," he grated.

"I love you, Angel, I always will," she said with complete honesty.  "But I have no illusions about you.  You're dangerous.  You surround yourself with power and pain and you have nothing but heartache to offer a girl like Buffy.  If you have any human decency, you will leave her alone."

Angel was silent for a long moment.  Finally, he said, "I am not human.  And leaving her alone is the one thing I cannot do."

"Cannot or will not?" Jenny demanded.

"It's the same thing."

Sighing, Jenny tried to make him understand.  "You're going to hurt her.  You won't start out to do it intentionally, it's an unavoidable effect of being close to you.  But that won't make it any easier on Buffy.  You will destroy her."

"I won't let her go," he said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child.

"Then you are condemning her," Jenny said sadly.

*****

The sun was high in the sky and streaming through her open curtains when Buffy woke.  Without thinking, she tried to roll onto her side and immediately regretted it.  With a grunt of pain, she propped herself up on her elbows.  She was still lying on top of the covers, still wearing her clothes, but an extra blanket had been draped over her.

She blinked slowly, fighting to acclimate to the bright light.  Taking a deep breath, she turned her head to the side and saw the indentation in the pillow next to her own.  She could still smell the scent of him on the pillow, the sheets, herself.  She could taste him on her tongue.

"Damn," she mumbled to herself.  Her memories of last night weren't hallucinations courtesy of the happy drugs.  Her ...  _whatever_  with Angel really happened.  Buffy blushed deeply and flopped back on the bed, pulling the covers over her head.  How could she have done that?  With Angel of all people.  She groaned aloud.  He was probably having a good laugh about it at her expense - if he could be bothered to think about her at all.

She felt nauseated.  And pained.  She pulled the blanket down again.  A quick glance at the nightstand showed that Angel left her pain pills and a bottle of water within easy reach.  Despite her uneasy stomach, Buffy knew she needed to take one.  Blindly, she reached for the bottle of pills, but pulled back unexpectedly when her hand brushed against something warm.  Turning her head, Buffy looked at the nightstand.  Propping herself up on one elbow, she gingerly grabbed the bottle of pills.  Behind the bottle of pills was the Nottis stone.

Buffy popped a pill and took a drink of water, watching the stone warily.  Curiosity won out over caution and she reached for the stone.  Bonelessly, she flopped back on the bed, looking at it.  It was beautiful.   Her mouth twisted into a reluctant grin.  Willow must have told Angel about the stone and he bought it for her.  She curled her fingers around the stone and held it over her heart.

Dammit!  She wanted to hate him.  She needed to hate him.  It kept things simple and it kept her safe.  She didn't want to think about Angel or anything else.  Thinking made her head hurt.  She already had a sore leg, she didn't need anymore misery.  But the strange thing was, thinking about Angel made her anything but miserable.  Thinking about Angel made her feel ... happy.

*****

"Damn, B, lemme help you," Gunn said, vaulting over the counter as Buffy pushed open the doors to the Hyperion.

Her leg was still killing her, but as long as she went slow, she could walk on it.  Hobble on it, actually.  She hated to imagine how bad it would be without her Slayer healing abilities.  Sliding an arm around Gunn's shoulders, she allowed him to help her over to the counter.  She didn't know what had been up with his attitude last night, but she was fairly sure his over attentiveness was his non-verbal way of apologizing.

"Ms. Summers," Wesley said as he entered from the office.  Buffy nodded in greeting and gingerly sat on the tall barstool at the former check-in desk.  Wesley approached her with a frown.  Removing his glasses, he looked speculatively at her wounded leg.  She was wearing a pair of very loose sweatpants.  "May I?" he asked.

"Sure," Buffy replied unenthusiastically.  She honestly didn't want Wesley poking at her, but it was sort of his job to make sure she was okay.  She bit into her lower lip and sucked in a sharp breath as he experimentally applied pressure to her leg with his fingertips.

Nodding in a satisfied manner, he straightened up and replaced his glasses.  "I believe you are healing quite well," he said.  "You should be fine in a few days."

Buffy nodded in reply and Wesley left to take a call in his office.  Buffy looked up and found Gunn leaning on the opposite side of the counter, watching her closely.  His face showed his obvious concern.  "You okay, B?" he asked.

Shrugging, she said, "It hurts like hell, but Wes is right.  I'll be fine in a few days."

Gunn didn't look convinced, but he decided to take her word for it.  "Guess you made it home all right," he said.

Buffy swallowed harshly.  Oh lord, how long until the cat was out of the bag?  Given that she had to hobble over her weapons bag that morning, which was sitting right inside the door to her bedroom, Buffy already knew that Willow was aware Angel spent the night.  Damned office romances.  "Uh, yeah," she said.  "Ang - er, uh, Roarke dropped me off."

Gunn's lips pursed together in an unpleasant expression.  "Boss make you walk up all those stairs?" he asked tightly.

In spite of her uneasiness, Buffy smiled at the thinly veiled threat in his voice.  She knew if she said yes that Gunn would do something stupid like start a fight with Angel.  They both knew he could never win, but it wouldn't stop him from trying.  "Nah," she said lightly, "he was okay.  He looked out for me."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Gunn nodded.  "If you need anything, you just let me know," he said.

"Will do," she replied with a very genuine smile.

*****

Angel stared at his shaking hands with frustration.  The elevator lurched to life and he abruptly put his hands behind his back, turning to glare at the intruder.

Willow stopped short at the expression on his face.  Any thoughts she had entertained about teasing him about Buffy died a quick death.  "I, uh, can come back later," she said, from behind the metal grate.

"It's fine," Angel bit out, nodding with his head for her to step into his office proper.  "What do you need?"

"Lorne said you were free, if he was wrong I can come back - "

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I was wondering if you could help me with a casting," she said quickly.  "I'm having some trouble getting it down.  It just feels off and I can't understand why."

Angel took a deep breath.  "Can it wait until tomorrow?" he asked much more calmly.

"I guess," she said, frowning, "but the sooner the better.  The clients are having a problem with a violent poltergeists and I was going to try and bind her before she kills another one of their house pets."

"I'll look at it tomorrow," he said tersely, turning back to his desk.

"Roarke."

He turned.

Willow cleared her throat, working up her nerve.  "Are you okay?" she asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," he said with finality.

Willow didn't look convinced, but she turned, slowly descending in the elevator.  Angel slumped down into his office chair, once again staring at his trembling hands.  His magicks were in disarray and he felt uncomfortable, anxious, like something was trying to crawl out from under his skin.

With a low growl, he sank deeper into the chair.  It had something to do with Buffy, he knew it.  Whatever bond he had with her was affecting his darker powers.  That was unacceptable.

But not seeing Buffy was equally unacceptable.  He growled louder.  All of his darker instincts were telling him to get as far away from Buffy as possible.  But something else inside him knew that was an impossibility.  He needed Buffy.  He had always needed Buffy.  Now that she was within his grasp, there was no way he was going to walk away.

He wrung his hands together, cursing under his breath.

*****

Buffy was leaning against the recently closed front door, still panting hard from her laborious trip up from the parking lot.  Thank gods her "new" car was an automatic.  She couldn't imagine trying to shift gears on her sports car with her leg in this condition.  As it was, driving to the Hyperion and walking up the stairs nearly sapped her completely.  But her day wasn't a total loss.  One perk to being seriously injured on the job was that Wesley let her skip out way early.  Of course given that she was in absolutely no condition to take advantage of the impromptu vacation, this wasn't as fortuitous as it might seem.

As she looked up, she noticed Willow sitting on the couch, surrounded by books that looked more magical and less textbook-ish.  Their eyes met.  "Hey," Buffy chirped brightly, though still out of breath.

"Hey," Willow returned with a smile.  Buffy, at least, seemed in a good mood after her night with Roarke.  Maybe his strange demeanor was related to something else entirely.  "Your stepmom called about an hour ago."

"Jenny?"

"Um, yeah," Willow said.  "That is your stepmom, right?"

Buffy nodded.  "Yes," she said with a frown, "but I didn't give her this number.  Oh well, so my dad's been snooping around again.  What else is new?"

Willow's brow furrowed.  "I'm sorry.  Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

Buffy waved dismissively.  "Nah," she said.  "Don't worry about it.  I'm used to it.  They're just worried and nosy.  Two great tastes that don't taste great together."

Frowning, Willow replied, "I doubt your trip to the emergency room last night will make them any less worried."

"True," Buffy said, easing down into the overstuffed chair across from Willow.  She picked up the cordless phone and dialed.  Jenny answered almost immediately.  "Hey," Buffy said.

"Buffy, thank gods," Jenny exclaimed, her relief evident.  "Are you okay?  Do you need us to come get you?"

"Uh, I'm fine," Buffy said.  "How did you know anything was wrong?"

Jenny was silent for several long moments.  "Angel called last night," she said.  "He told us that you were okay, but I would feel better if you came home for a while.  I don't trust his evaluation."

Buffy ground her teeth together to silence the bitchy reply that was her automatic response to Jenny's statement.  What was going on with her?  It wasn't like her to defend Angel.  But in light of his behavior last night, she wasn't inclined to view him as the monster.  Angel had issues, she knew that, but he wasn't the unsalvageable creature that her parents chose to see.  Last night, he was a perfect gentleman and she was getting really tired of no one giving him the benefit of the doubt.  "I'm fine," she said.  "I don't need a nursemaid and even if I did, I have people who look out for me."  Unconsciously, she pushed her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the Nottis stone.

"Really, Buffy," Jenny said, her voice full of motherly concern with a hefty side of condescension, "just come home and let us take care of you."

"What did Angel tell you?"

"That isn't what's important - "

"What did Angel tell you?" Buffy demanded.

Jenny made an irritated sound.  "He said that he had to take you to the emergency room and that you were okay," she admitted.

"And you don't believe him?" Buffy asked guardedly.

"Buffy, you have to understand a few things about Angel.  He doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive.  I know that he must be intriguing to a girl your age.  He's handsome and tragic, but - "

"I work with Angel," she spat.  "There is nothing romantic between us and if he thinks that I can continue to do my job, then I am going to do it."

"You don't understand - "

"Understand what?  That Angel is dangerous?  I get that, Jenny.  I've always gotten that.  I don't trust him.  He's not my friend.  But as a colleague, I do know that he knows how to do his job and I know that he trusts me to do mine.  He respects me.  And I will not treat him like some sort of demon just because you and dad don't get along with him."

Jenny was quiet for a long moment and Buffy could feel her barely repressed anger.  "He's using you."

The words stung like a slap.  How could Jenny honestly think that she was so blind?  "I have to go."

"Buffy, no please wait-"

"Bye, Jenny."  Buffy clicked off the phone.  She slowly became aware of Willow's presence and turned to look at her roommate.  Her cheeks flamed at being caught in such a blatant lie by Willow.  "They still think I'm ten years old," she said by way of explanation.

Willow shrugged.  "I wouldn't know," she said.  "My parents have treated me like I was thirty-five since the first grade.  I don't envy your fights, but knowing they cared every now and then would be nice."

Buffy smiled gently at her roommate.  Willow's manner was always very reserved.  Buffy had the impression that if Willow would open up they could be very good friends, but she knew that Tara's death had caused Willow to close in on herself.  Buffy felt like a jerk for being so wrapped up in her own problems.  "What are you doing home?" Buffy asked, changing the subject.  "I thought you had class."

"It let out early today," Willow said.  She smiled in a nervous gesture and an uneasy silence descended.

"You miss her," Buffy said bluntly.

Willow clearly wasn't expecting that line of conversation and her eyes instantly welled with tears.  She blinked rapidly, trying to stop them from falling.  It was useless as they streamed down her cheeks unchecked.  Willow blushed, embarrassed and reached for a tissue.  "I'm sorry," she managed to choke.

Buffy smiled gently.  "I didn't mean to upset you," she said quietly.  "I just ... you don't have to put on a happy face for me, I know it has to be difficult."

Willow nodded and finally gave up a pretense of trying to remain calm.  Her shoulders shook as she cried.  Long moments later, her sniffles ceased.  "Tara was everything that's good about me," she said wistfully.  "She was my light, my love.  And without her ... god, sometimes it's so hard.  When I think of all the time I wasted ... of all the mistakes I made.  I swear if I had any idea how limited our time together would be ..."

"I can't imagine," Buffy said honestly.

Willow's expression sobered.  "When Tara died .. things were bad.  Really bad.  I went a little crazy."

"Anyone in your position would do the same," Buffy assured her.

Willow grinned wryly.  "No," she said.  "You don't understand.  I did things.  I called a lot of dark magicks.  I lost myself in their power.  I came really close to hurting a lot of people."

Buffy nodded as she took in Willow's confession.  "But you didn't hurt them," she said.

Shaking her head, Willow said, "No, I didn't.  But not through any will of my own.  If I had found the person responsible for Tara's death, I would have ..."  Willow trailed off and stopped, shuddering at the thought of how far her vengeance would have gone.  She took a deep breath.  "Roarke stopped me.  He's powerful.  Very powerful.  He managed to prevent me from hurting anyone.  I know that a lot of people have problems with him, but he saved me from destroying a lot of other people's lives and that sorta makes me like him."

"Is that how you started working for him?" Buffy asked tentatively.

Willow nodded.  "We knew of each other before that," she said vaguely.  "But after he stopped me ...  He has a lot of power.  A lot.  He could have done any number of things.  He could have stripped me of my power, but he didn't.  He kept me from harming other people and myself.  He helped me learn to control it.  We'll never be great friends, but I owe him."

[End Chapter 10]


	12. Chapter 12

It was dark, but he had no trouble making out her form in the alley.  She was crying, her forehead pressed to the dirty brick wall.  He could taste her grief on his tongue like the finest wine.

He walked up behind her, pressing himself against her back.  She didn't flinch away.  She trusted him.  Blindly, she turned around, burrowing into his embrace.  He felt his features shift as the demon assumed control.  Lowering his head, he nuzzled against her neck.  She smelled so good, like the most exquisite prey.  He could smell the blood from the wound on her thigh beckoning him.  He dropped to his knees, pressing his face against her stomach.  She threaded her fingers through his hair.  Carefully, he turned her, pressing his face closer to the vicious wound.  His tongue snaked out to taste a drop of her precious blood.  He shivered.  The power within her was beyond words.  If he consumed her, he would be unstoppable.  Nothing and no one would ever be able to hurt him again.

He fisted his hand in the denim and pulled, ripping the material away.  Without pause, he lowered his lips to her rent flesh.  She hissed, but did not push him away.  She trusted him, trusted him to never hurt her.  He was going to love drinking her innocence dry.  He felt his teeth elongate into fangs as he bit into her flesh.  Dimly, he heard her gasp, felt her struggle.  He drank deeper.  He could feel her heart weakening, feel her grip on him lessening ...

"No!"

Angel woke instantly, sitting bolt upright in bed.  The sound of his own breathing was deafening in the perfect silence.  He sat there for several minutes, willing himself to calm down.  Carefully, he slipped from the bed over to the huge windows.  He pulled the heavy draperies apart, bathing the room in warm morning sunlight.  Ignoring the pain it caused him, he stood there, letting the light burn away the remnants of his nightmare.

What was wrong with him?  He could feel his magicks.  They were no longer scattered and unmanageable.  They were honed to razor sharpness.  He could feel the darkness twisting inside him, looking for a release, a victim.  He could almost taste Buffy's blood at the back of his throat.

His stomach clenched tightly and he retched, collapsing onto his knees.  He put a hand on the floor, steadying himself as he breathed deeply, trying to stave off his nausea at the thought of hurting Buffy.  Half of him wanted nothing more than to protect her, while the other half demanded her blood.

*****

The stone was warm in Buffy's palm.  It felt comfortable, natural.  Just like Angel.  Buffy winced at the thought.  Oh, she couldn't be doing this.  She couldn't be sitting around thinking mushy thoughts about the most unapologetically evil man she'd ever met.  Turning, she watched Willow move around the work area, measuring out herbs.  Buffy knew Willow was busy and didn't need to be bothered.  But Buffy wanted to bother her.  She wanted to give in to her insecurities and pour her heart out to her only female confidant.

But she didn't.  What had happened between her and Angel was best kept between her and Angel.  Besides, there was a decade of backstory that you needed in order to really understand the full ramifications of what transpired.  Buffy frowned.  Was she just trying to convince herself of something?  What if their past together didn't play into it at all?  What if Angel was just trying to amuse himself?  After all, it had been almost a week since she'd last seen him.  In fact, it seemed like Angel was going out of his way to avoid her.

Looking at the stone, Buffy had the urge to throw it across the room.  But she couldn't.  She couldn't toss the stone away anymore than she could banish Angel from her thoughts ... or her heart.

*****

"That looks ... interesting."

Buffy sat up on the yoga ball so fast that she tipped over and toppled to the floor.  She groaned, silently berating herself for being such a spaz in front of Angel.  Opening her eyes, she saw him standing over her.  "Hi," she said with a frown, wondering what he was doing in the Hyperion's basement.

Mutely, he offered her a hand up.  With his assistance she rose fluidly to her feet.  "You must be feeling better," he said, eyeing her leg.

"It's better," she confirmed.  "Not great, but definitely healing.  Wes won't let me patrol until I'm up to speed again, but since everyone else is out covering for me, I'm stuck here trying to work out by myself."

She absently kicked the neon green yoga ball, her bottom lip protruding in a pout.  He was here, showing up without a single mention of the fact that he'd been gone for ten days.  She wanted to be angry with him.  She'd had it all planned out.  If she saw him again, she was going to make him grovel.  But now, presented with the reality of Angel standing in front of her, being charming, she found she couldn't do it.  She'd spent so much time worried that he'd be distant or worse, mean, that relief flooded her at his wicked grin.

She looked at him warily.  His smile was filled with something she couldn't identify. "What?" she asked cautiously.

He spread his arms in invitation.  "Spar with me," he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Last time I did that, you tried to give me a permanent scar.  Remember?"

He smiled wolfishly.  "I remember.  I also remember that you were fighting cold in high heels and a skirt.  And you still won."

She laughed to herself, straightening up to her full height, head held high. "I did, didn't I," she said with obvious pride.

"So, spar with me," he repeated.

Eyeing him up and down, she said, "You're really not dressed for it."

Looking down at himself, he shrugged.  He walked to the edge of the practice mat and toed off his shoes and socks before draping his jacket over a chair.  Dressed in only a pair of low slung black leather pants and a white button-up shirt, he returned to stand in front of her.

She watched as he undid the buttons at his throat and wrists and then rolled back the sleeves.  She swallowed audibly.  Suddenly, she was inordinately glad for the fact that she decided to wear the black lycra sports bra and loose black yoga pants that rode low on her hips.  Her fashion sense was definitely suffering for her Slayerhood, but she knew she looked hot at the moment.

"Ready, Slayer?" he asked in open challenge.

"You have no idea," she muttered saucily under her breath, but held up her hands and nodded to him to attack.

Angel went easy at first, testing her range of motion, carefully noting the moves that caused her to wince.  Buffy circled around him, trying to ignore the pain in her leg and concentrate on her opponent.  As she barely dodged a fist, she realized maybe keeping all of her interest concentrated on him wasn't such a wise move.  The way he looked in those leather pants should be illegal.

When Angel was satisfied that her leg was indeed strong enough, he became more aggressive.  As a rule, he didn't spend a lot of time in hand to hand combat.  It was far more efficient to get his point across with political intimidation and magicks, but never one to be outdone, he had studied several different forms of martial arts and he kept himself in top physical shape.  For a student of combat, it was a rare pleasure to pit his skills against someone who was such a raw and instinctive fighter.  He could tell she was being hesitant because of her injuries and he was actually rather thankful for that.  He had no doubt that he was no match physically for Buffy in top form.

But she wasn't in top form, and he didn't get where he was by playing fair.  He started attacking on her weak side, causing her to fight for balance, making her work twice as hard as he was.  After days of limited physical activity, she was waning quickly.  He took the opportunity, swinging at her, knowing she would have to dodge and then sweeping her legs out from under her.

Buffy landed hard and didn't move as pain flared through her wounded leg.  Angel stood over her, watching.  There was a strong pull to run to her side and assure himself that she was all right, but he held his ground.  Buffy was the Slayer and she had to become accustomed to battle.  She stayed as she was, laid out on her back on the practice mat.  Her eyes were closed and she ground her teeth against the pain.

"You okay?" Angel asked, careful to mask his concern.

"Fine," she bit out.  "Just give me a second."

Angel walked around her in a slow circle.  "Buffy," he said, trying to take her mind off the pain, "I thought your mother was German."

"She was," Buffy replied, pushing herself into a sitting position.

Angel smiled saucily.  "And we already know your father is an English pig."

"Is there a point to this?" she asked wearily.

"Not really," he said.  "I was just wondering why you have a Celtic cross tattooed on your hip."

"I don't have a ..."  Buffy looked down at her right hip.  Her yoga pants had ridden down far enough that there was indeed a tattoo of a Celtic cross visible.  Since performing the soulmate spell with Ford many months earlier, Buffy had the strange design on her hip - right where the Celtic cross was now situated.  " ... tattoo," she finished lamely.

"Some drunken night you can't remember?" Angel offered.

Buffy shook her head and looked up to see his proffered hand.  She took it, letting him help her to her feet.  She stared down at the tattoo, pulling her pants far enough down her hip that it was completely visible.  "I don't know what's going on," she said.

"You really didn't know you had a tattoo?" Angel asked, becoming more concerned.

Frowning, Buffy said, "No, I have one, it just usually ... "

"Usually?" he prompted.

"Doesn't look like this," she said meekly, her brow furrowing as she looked at it again.

"Let me get this straight," Angel said, "you have a tattoo, it just normally doesn't look like a Celtic cross?"

"Well normally, it's ... " Buffy looked at him, her mouth hanging open.  She snapped it shut.  "Never mind," she said.  "I don't know what's going on."

He stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern.  "Ionuin, if something is wrong -"

"No," Buffy said firmly.  "It's fine.  I'll deal with it later."  She looked at his disheveled form and didn't even attempt to lie to herself about the way his rumpled clothes and worried expression pulled at something inside of her.  She stepped away from him, limping across the mat.  "I think I'm done sparring for the day," she said, not looking at him.

Angel was quiet for several moments and when he spoke, his voice was soft.  "Did you find the Nottis stone?" he asked.

Turning, Buffy met his gaze, trying to keep her expression neutral.  "I did," she replied, then tacked on a hasty, "thank you."

He nodded, then shrugged. "See you later," he said and after grabbing his jacket and shoes, left without another word.

Buffy took a few deep breaths and looked down at her hip.  Once again, the design returned to the way it had looked for the last eighteen months.  The patterns made more sense now, knowing where the odd lines and twists formed the part of the larger design.  Still, this was not good news.  She grabbed her sweatshirt and pulled it on over her sports bra and headed upstairs to do research.

*****

Buffy stared blankly at the weathered parchment page.

"Like this one," Gunn said loudly, scaring her out of her zone as he held up the new battle-axe.  Buffy stared at him with her hand pressed to her racing heart.  She had missed the entire conversation, lost in her thoughts.  Leaning in, Gunn looked at her closely.  "You okay there, B?" he asked.  She nodded.  He looked down at the book.  "Whatcha readin'?"

Buffy snapped the book shut.  "Nothing," she said, smiling sweetly.

Gunn didn't look convinced, but he let it drop, returning the axe to the weapons cabinet.  Buffy hopped off the stool and limped carefully over to Wesley's bookshelves.  She replaced the book she had borrowed.  It was a duplicate copy of the spellbook she and Ford had used for their magickal dabblings, Bind's Compendium.  Wesley's book had an exact copy of the spell that left the random design permanently embedded in the flesh on her hip.  "Soulmates," Buffy said under her breath.

Buffy hobbled back to the stool and resumed her perch next to the phone.  Wesley, Gunn and Groo milled around the Hyperion's lobby, taking a moment to regroup from the day's activities before they dove into the nighttime routine.  Half hidden behind the counter, Buffy pulled up her sweatshirt and rolled over the waistband of her pants.  The mark was still nothing more than a random assortment of lines.  Buffy sighed and righted her clothes.  She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the counter as she cradled her head.  She had read and re-read the spell for hours.  There was no getting around it, she performed it correctly.  The seemingly random pattern on her hip was half of a mark.  It only completed itself when her soulmate was near.

Buffy groaned and collapsed completely forward onto the counter, pillowing her head on her arms.  Liam Roarke ... Angel, the man she couldn't stand, was her other half?  This couldn't be happening.  She hated him!  But even as Buffy thought it, she knew it wasn't true.  Angel irritated her, possibly more than any human being on the planet, but she didn't hate him.  He merely had the ability to push her buttons like no one else.  He knew exactly what to say or do to drive her nuts.  But he hadn't been driving her nuts lately - at least not the way he used to.  More often than not, she actually looked forward to seeing him, to talking to him.  And she couldn't even begin to deny that looking at him was most definitely a pleasure.  And then there was the Nottis stone.  He wouldn't have gone out of his way to find it for her if he hadn't had some inkling of what it meant.  She sighed miserably.

"I think I'm falling in love with him," she whispered to herself.

Buffy shook herself violently, shuddering at the notion.  The thought of loving Angel terrified her.  Angel wasn't a man with whom to trust one's heart.  He was cold, calculating and solitary.  She couldn't deny that there had always been a connection between the two of them.  Nor could she deny that while she heard stories of his ruthlessness, he had never been anything but brutally honest with her ...

She let her thoughts wander, remembering his scent, the feel of his lips against hers and the concern in his eyes, remembering the unmistakable thrust of his arousal.  Buffy had no trouble believing that his reputation as a lover was well deserved, but taking him as a lover and falling in love with him weren't separate for her.  She knew that if she ever did give in to him that it would be because he held her heart.  And her heart was the one thing she couldn't give him.

*****

Angel took a deep breath as he slid behind his desk at Caritas.  He sat stone still, eyes closed.  He opened them slowly, looking at his hands.  They weren't shaking.  But he still felt unbalanced.  Since his contact with Buffy hadn't been prolonged, the effect wasn't debilitating.  But now that he knew what he was looking for, he could tell.

When he was near her, he wanted to touch her.  And when he did ...

Angel knew he was damned.  He'd known that for years.  But touching Buffy was as close to heaven as a creature like himself was ever going to get.  Her scent, her taste, her feel were all addictive.  When he was near her, he felt drunk on her.  When she was gone he felt empty in a way he had never imagined.

But if he was near her, if he dared to touch her, the fallout was intense.  His magicks abandoned him, making him a stranger in his own body.  In the wake of their contact, he couldn't concentrate, he couldn't do anything.

And when his magicks did return, they returned with a vengeance.  He knew Buffy must have surmised that he was avoiding her in the wake of their physical encounter.  And it was true.  But he doubted she could even begin to appreciate his reasoning.

The nightmare he had of hurting Buffy, of gorging on her lifeforce until she died was still so fresh, so vivid.  It was a backlash of some sort.  The dark magicks that had initially receded from Buffy's touch nearly overtook him once they returned.  In the wake of that dream, he had avoided all humans for fear of doing something.  Something violent and bloody.  The nightmare he'd had of Buffy ...  He could remember the euphoria of ingesting her power.

He shook the thought away.  It was much safer to avoid her.   Safer for them both.

But he could only avoid her for so long before he began craving her touch.  He'd been weak today.  He'd sought her out, made up a flimsy excuse to touch her.

"Dammit!" he cursed, pounding his fist against the desk.

*****

"Earth to Buffy."

Lifting her head from the former check-in desk, Buffy smiled wryly at Willow.  "Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," Willow chirped.  "Whatcha doin' sittin' here all alone?"

"Recuperating," Buffy said evasively.

Willow frowned, knowing that Buffy wasn't merely taking a break.  "Anything you want to talk about?" she asked.

Buffy shrugged.  "I don't know," she said.  "I'm just trying to get my head straight.  I'm kinda confused at the moment."

Leaning against the counter, Willow double-checked that none of the guys were close enough to overhear.  "This wouldn't have anything to do with our boss, would it?" she whispered.

Buffy felt her cheeks pinken.  "Wow, that obvious, huh?" she asked, her voice thick with self-derision.

"Oh, no, Buffy," Willow assured her.  "I live there," she said.  Willow smiled gently.  "I ...  _know_  about the other night."

Blush deepening, Buffy winced.  Willow laid a gentle hand on her arm.  "It's confusing," Buffy said, "and getting more so by the moment."

Gunn's voice broke up their quiet discussion as he sneered loudly, "Oh look, a lawyer.  Just what we need around here.  It's always easier hunting vamps with bait."

Buffy turned her attention to the doors and watched as an attractive man entered the Hyperion.  Dressed in faded blue jeans and a battered gray t-shirt, he didn't reek of money.  But current appearance aside, Buffy knew he would be just as comfortable in Armani.  He shrugged off Gunn's comment with a mix of arrogance and self-confidence that Buffy had only seen before on Angel, swaggering down the steps and into the lobby.  "He a regular customer or something?" Buffy whispered to Willow, watching him walk across the floor with an easy grace that belied his familiarity with the hotel.

Frowning, Willow turned her attention back to Buffy.  "Lindsey McDonald," Willow confided out of the corner of her mouth as he approached the counter.

"Willow," Lindsey said, nodding his head.  The bit of twang betrayed his Texan roots.  As his eyes landed on Buffy, a smile blossomed across his face, chock full of southern charm.  "I don't believe we've met," he said, extending his hand.  "I'm Lindsey."

Buffy shook his hand, thrilled that he gave her a firm shake and didn't try any landshark moves like planting a kiss.  "Buffy Summers," she said, smiling easily.  From the doorway, she had known he was attractive, but in close quarters he was a complete hottie.  His ice blue eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief and his hand lingered longer than was absolutely necessary.  Buffy also couldn't help noticing that he smelled very nice ... maybe not the same way that Angel's particular scent smelled nice, but definitely of the good.

"So Lindsey," Willow chirped, trying to break up the sudden tension, "what brings you here?"

Lindsey smiled broadly at Willow, completely aware that she was trying to divert his attention from Buffy.  "Nothing really," he said.  "I'm back in town, decided to check in and see how things are going."

"Does Roarke know you're here?" Willow asked.

Lindsey's smile faded.  "You know he doesn't."

"After everything that happened," Willow asked cautiously, "do you think it's a good idea to be here?"

"Here as in Angel Investigations or are you insinuating that Roarke has dominion over the entire city?" Lindsey replied acridly.

"Linds, I wasn't - "

Lindsey shook his head, sighing.  "I'm sorry, Willow, I didn't mean to snap.  It's just that the muzzle gets old pretty quick."

"I'm not saying that what he did was right," Willow explained, "but I do think that his intentions were mostly good."

Lindsey's lips pressed into a hard line.  "I made my own bed," he said.  "I know that.  It's just a little hard to sleep in some nights."  Turning, Lindsey gave Buffy a smile that was a shadow of the former.  "Buffy, it was nice to meet you.  I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

As the doors swung shut behind Lindsey, Buffy giggled.  "Who was that masked man?" she quipped.

"Trouble," Willow replied dryly, sharing none of Buffy's giddy impressions from the exchange.

[End Chapter 11]


	13. Chapter 13

Three days later, Lorne was just back from giving a reading on stage when he almost ran into Rebecca.  She was charging out of his office, not paying any attention to anyone.  "Hey, watch the suit!" Lorne yelled at her retreating form, blotting the Sea Breeze off his red shirt with a cocktail napkin.

Several moments later, Angel descended in the rickety elevator, stepping off without bothering to extricate his head from the file he was reading.

"Girl trouble?" Lorne asked.

Angel looked up, frowning.

"Rebecca," Lorne offered.  "You know, the nasty little two-bit whore of an actress that you spent the better part of last year entertaining."

Angel shrugged, making a face.  "If she comes in again, see that she's escorted right back out."

Lorne smiled.

Angel frowned at him.  "What?"

"Nothing, Angelcakes," he said, "just wondering if this has anything to do with a certain Slayer."

"That," Angel said, snapping the file shut, "is none of your business."   
 

*****

A match flared to life in the dark alley.  Buffy didn't jump.  Somehow jumping would make her seem not very scary as a Slayer.  So she didn't jump.  But she did pivot around and face the man lurking in the shadows, watching as he took a drag off the cigarette.

"Word has it that Roarke still has you assigned to desk duty," Lindsey said with a smile.  "You wouldn't be going against his orders, now would you?"

Buffy flipped the stake idly in her hand, popping out one hip as she eyed Lindsey.  She watched as he pushed off from the wall and approached her.  It shouldn't have been a sensuous move, but somehow it was.  But Lindsey was smart.  He was careful not to get too close and his posture was completely relaxed.  There was a contained darkness about him, but for tonight at least, he wasn't a predator.  She had never entertained that thought about Angel.  Angel was always a predator.

Her musings sobered her instantly.  She hadn't seen Angel in days and it was making her inordinately grouchy.  "Wesley has me on desk duty," she replied.

Lindsey chuckled.  "Wesley's a good dog," he said, "but he doesn't hunt.  All orders come from Roarke."

Buffy shrugged.  "I don't really know much about his management style, but all of my orders come from Wesley."

Nodding, Lindsey let it drop.  "But regardless of who gives you orders, you're still disobeying them, right?"

Meeting his eyes for a long moment, Buffy finally nodded.  "I don't like being kept on a short rein."

He smiled broadly.  "Me either," he said with a wink.

Despite her better judgment, Buffy returned his smile and continued walking down the alley, nodding for him to follow.  He did so easily, his gate lazy so she didn't strain her leg.  "So what's up with you and the boss?" Buffy asked, deciding that there was no point in playing coy.

He laughed.  "You don't pull punches, do you?" he asked.

"That's not an answer," she replied.

He nodded.  "Fair enough," he said, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the sole of his well worn boots.  "Roarke and I go way back.  Used to be close and then we had a difference of opinion that left me high and dry."

"Difference of opinion ..." Buffy repeated.  "About what?"

"I thought I should be allowed to live my life the way I saw fit, and he disagreed."

Buffy remained silent.  She knew Angel well enough to know that he wasn't above dictating how others lived their lives.  But still, she knew Lindsey wasn't being completely truthful.  "Got any details there, Tex?" she asked.

"Big Brother didn't approve of my employment," he said.  "Roarke put me through college, through law school, all the while telling me that I didn't owe him anything ... and then when I got a job he didn't like, he took it all away."

"Must have been some job," Buffy said evasively.  While she had no trouble imagining Angel using his power to force someone out of a job, the fact that he had put Lindsey through college was shocking.  Given Lindsey's bitterness, she also guessed there was a lot more not being said.

"To give the devil his due," Lindsey elaborated, "my employer was a firm of demons hell bent on winning Armageddon."

Buffy snorted.  "Gee, can't imagine him having any issue with that."

"True," Lindsey said, "but that's not really the point, is it?  He gave me this gift and said 'do with it what you will', but when he didn't like it, he took it all away.  And now instead of looking at the view from my office, I'm working as a public defender for the city and hiding out in alleys."

Coming to a stop, Buffy turned to face him with slitted eyes.  "You're not hiding," she said baldly.

He laughed somewhat uneasily.  "Touché," he replied.  "I'm not hiding.  In fact, I'm doing my best to beard the lion in his own den."

"If you and Angel really were such good friends, then you must know that's not a bright idea," she advised.

For a long moment, Lindsey held her gaze, saying nothing.  Finally he took a deep breath, breaking eye contact to stare blindly down the alley.  " I never trusted anyone the way I trusted him and he made me regret every second of it," Lindsey said, his voice hoarse with emotion.  "So now my life holds nothing but the hope that one day I'll get my payback."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow.  "Touching story there, Tex, but you hope to accomplish this mission how?  By lurking around in alleys?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," he said with a grin.  He stepped closer, letting his eyes drift over her body in a way that sent pleasant tingles of excitement tickling over her skin.  Buffy didn't even try to deny that there was definite chemistry between herself and Lindsey ... but it didn't mean she welcomed it.  Something inside of her knew that getting involved with an enemy of Angel would be a very bad idea.  Lindsey leaned in and though she knew she should back up, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

He let out a self-derisive snort.  "I had this all planned," he admitted, shaking his head in wonder.  "I followed you, waiting for the right moment.  I was going to casually show up and lay some line on you ..."  he trailed off and shrugged.  Stepping back, he reached for another cigarette and lit it in silence.  After he released his second drag, he said, "I didn't count on actually liking you."

Buffy stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.  "Followed me?" she echoed.  "And like me?  What's that supposed to mean? What do I have to do with your pissing contest with Angel?"

He looked at her incredulously.  "You can't honestly be that blind," he said.  "Roarke is about as subtle as a bull in a china shop."

"Know what?" she demanded, getting more irritated by the second.

"Liam Roarke is a very hard man to get a bead on, but he was my best friend for a long damn time.  I knew him better than anyone.  Better than his sister.  I know for a fact that the easiest way to truly hurt him would be to get close to you.  To take you from him.  He'd kill me for it, but at least I'd get my revenge."

Shaking her head, Buffy said, "I don't know what you're talking about.  I work for Angel.  We're - "

" _Angel,_ " Lindsey repeated pointedly.  "That's his real name.  He told me that once when we were both drunk out of our minds.  I know that there are only two people on the planet who would dare address him by that name.  One is his only flesh and blood relative and the other is the woman he's been in love with for years."

Buffy laughed and it sounded strained even to her ears.  This wasn't true.  It couldn't be.  But she couldn't stop the pain that it caused ... because part of her desperately wanted Lindsey's words to be real.  "Angel doesn't love anyone or anything."

Lindsey shrugged.  "Not the way any normal, well-adjusted person would love, no.  He doesn't.  But I also know that whatever twisted, obsessive emotion passes for love with him, he feels it for you.  I doubt he even entertains the notion of love, but it's still there.  He wants you.  He's always wanted you.  Roarke isn't a man to deny himself anything and the fact that he has denied himself you - especially with your new oh-so-convenient circumstances - speaks volumes."

Buffy shook her head.  "You don't know anything."

"Don't I?" he asked.  He let his gaze wander her body again, stepping closer.  "I don't know you," he said, his voice quiet and sensual.  "But I do know that there is ...  _something_  between us."

Buffy swallowed audibly, but held her ground, staring defiantly into his eyes.  "So?" she asked, not bothering to deny his assertion.

He chuckled at her feisty nature.  "I also know that you're holding back."

Her lips pursed into a thin, hard line.  "What?" she spat.  "You think that just because there's some something between us that I'm going to jump you in the first convenient alley?  Ego much?  And for your information, I don't work for Skanks-R-Us."

"Oh," he said with mock understanding, "so it's your own standards that are getting in the way and nothing else?"

"Exactly."

He didn't look convinced.  "And it doesn't have anything to do with your Angel?"

Buffy stared at him, but held her tongue.  Her Angel.  What a joke.  Angel didn't belong to anyone but himself.  But she couldn't prevent the oddly satisfying sensation the words brought.

Lindsey stepped even closer, almost touching. "What do you think he would do if he saw us now?" he asked in a near whisper.

Buffy swallowed thickly, turning away from Lindsey's knowing gaze.  For reasons she could not explain, she knew that Angel's rage would be exquisite.  They had no claim on each other, no understandings spoken or unspoken.  But still, she knew the truth in her bones.

"He would kill me for touching you," Lindsey said flatly.

Buffy didn't contradict him because she knew his words to be true, though she didn't know why.  "I have a job to do," Buffy said, turning on her heel.  As she walked off, Lindsey wisely did not follow.

*****

"You're certain it doesn't hurt?"

"It didn't," Buffy ground out, "but if you keep poking at it, I swear I'm going to poke you with Mr. Pointy."

Wesley straightened up, backing away from the agitated Slayer and her mostly-healed leg.  "Ah yes," he said.  "Point, erm, taken."

"So I'm off desk duty?" she asked hopefully.

"It would appear so," Wesley conceded.  "I would rather you give it another week, but taking into account your enthusiasm for your work and the fact that there are three people trying to pick up your slack, I have to defer to your opinion.  If you think you're ready, by all means, resume patrolling."

Grabbing her jacket off the counter, Buffy called over her shoulder, "Don't wait up."

[End Chapter 12]


	14. Chapter 14

Without turning around from her position at the weapons cabinet, Buffy knew that Angel was the one pushing through the Hyperion's doors.  "Hey- " she said as she swiveled to face him an unbidden smile fixed firmly on her lips.

She stopped mid-sentence as she saw the voluptuous brunette trailing behind him into the lobby.  It was a week since she last saw Angel.  Four days since Lindsey raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions that left her with nights full of sweaty, frustrating dreams.  Logically, Buffy convinced herself that Lindsey was full of it.  There was nothing between her and Angel.  Nothing at all.  But it didn't stop the near violent jealousy that burned through her as she watched Faith - Buffy knew instantly that was who the painted whore was - saunter behind Angel in a vaguely obscene way.  Buffy kept her eyes glued on Faith as Angel approached, noting the fact that if Faith's canvas army bag was any indication, she was planning on moving in.

Taking in the clearly unhappy expression on Buffy's face, Angel smiled.  "Buffy, Faith.  Faith, Buffy," he said offhandedly.  "Slayer, Slayer," he tacked on cheekily.

Faith finally looked at Buffy and snorted as she rolled her eyes.  "Anotha princess," she derided.  "Great."

Angel looked at Faith, a small smile playing on his lips.  "Yeah," he said playfully, "Buffy's not much to look at ... "  He ignored Buffy's glare of pure hatred.  "but this princess has your Slaying records beat in every category."

Faith's smirk of superiority died.

"And she's mastered the fine art of getting her ass to work on time," Angel continued pointedly.  "And she plays well with the team."  His expression was now completely sober.  "You might want to take a few pointers," he finished.

Faith was now staring at Buffy with a look of open animosity.  "Well isn't that just wicked convenient," she said.  "Pollyanna can do my job better than me and I bet she always eats all her vegetables and says her prayers before bed, too."

Angel looked nonplussed.  "Oh, no," he mocked in a scathing tone of voice, "is this going to be another pity party?  I'm afraid I didn't wear my hairshirt today."

Faith's jaw tightened as she glared at him.  "Look boss, you're the one who wanted ta get all twelve steppy with me.  I didn't ask for your help."

"Ask," he said wryly.  "You're right, it was more of a cry for help.  ' _I'm bad!  Just kill me!   Just do it!_ ' You really weren't looking for a one way ticket out of this world, you were just practicing for your summer stock auditions."

Faith flinched and Angel momentarily regretted his words.  But only momentarily.  The demons she would face nightly sure as hell wouldn't treat her with kid gloves.  Why should he?  Nevertheless, his demeanor softened, though it lacked none of his former seriousness.  "You're tough, Faith," he admitted freely, "and worth saving, but you were out of control.  You have a hell of a lot of potential and I don't want to see it wasted.  But I've dragged your ass out of the fire for the last time.  Your grace period is gone.  Pull your weight or get out.  Buffy set the standard and you meet it or you're on your own."

Faith nodded curtly, her expression shuttered.  She hefted her army green bag over her shoulder.  Mutely she turned and headed up the stairs like a good soldier, disappearing around a corner.  The slamming of a door echoed in the quiet hotel.

"So that's Faith," Buffy said coldly.  "Nice to see she's so well adjusted."

Turning to face her, Angel struck out lightning quick and grabbed Buffy's wrist.  His face was hard as his thumb played lightly over the raised scars.  "Being the Slayer is a rough gig," he said matter-of-factly.  "You all deal with it in your own ways."

Buffy wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, glaring.

"Don't get pissy with me," he said, "I'm just pointing out that until you've walked in her shoes, I wouldn't be so quick with the judgment.  Faith has her good points."

"Oh trust me, I know all about her good points," Buffy snapped.  Without waiting for his response, she turned and stalked over to the front desk, doing her best to ignore him.

Angel stood, rooted to his spot, watching her fume.  He could understand her rivalry with Faith.  It was natural.  There was only ever supposed to be one Slayer.  The fact that there were two was bound to have unpleasant side effects.  But even that didn't explain her childish reaction.

More amused than irritated, Angel followed her to the front desk, standing several paces behind her.  "Mind telling me why you're pouting about this?" he asked.

Twisting around to face him, Buffy snapped, "I'm not pouting!"

He smirked.  "Really?" he mocked.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she demanded.  "Like maybe you could be helping Faith and her body built for sin get comfortable upstairs," she offered.

Angel's face went blank for a split second and then he laughed in sincere mirth.  "You're upset about the note I put in Faith's file?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Buffy fumed, her jaw muscles flexing as she ground her teeth together.  So it was him!  That just pissed her off more.  "I'm not upset," she lied venomously.  "I don't care what you do with Faith.  Or to Faith.  In fact, maybe you should go check in on her like a good sponsor.  It could be touch and go without you to watch over her."

"You're mad," he said, his lips twisting into a smile of self-satisfaction.

"Why would I be mad?" she asked, her voice much higher than usual.  "It's not like I could even begin to compete with slut-o-rama up there.  Besides, I'm not much to look at."

Her chest was heaving with anger, her eyes lit by an internal fire.  As far as Angel was concerned, she had never looked more beautiful.  Without stopping to question his motives, Angel had her backed up against the counter, his tongue tangling with hers before she knew what was happening.

As soon as she realized what was going on, Buffy should have pushed him away.  She didn't.  Instead, she threaded her fingers through his hair and proceeded to give as good as she got.  She suckled on his tongue, nipped at his lips and generally mauled his mouth.  He wasn't complaining, though some part of his brain was still holding him in check.  His hands rested neutrally at her waist, itching to do more.  He settled for kissing her back with every ounce of carnal knowledge he possessed poured into the gesture.

Buffy sensed his reserve and it fanned the dying flames of her anger.  She knew without question that he wouldn't dream of holding back with Faith.  She didn't know why he was doing so with her, but she decided to be offended.  Luckily, she wasn't completely weaponless in this war.   As they continued to kiss, one of her hands left his neck, splaying over his chest, exploring the contours of his body.  As she scraped her nails down his silk covered chest, he growled lightly and kissed her more insistently.  Emboldened by his response, Buffy abandoned the tame gestures and went straight for wanton, rubbing herself against him in open invitation.

Angel couldn't think.  He was painfully aroused, hungry for the taste and feel of this woman.  His fingers bit into her hips, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist, positioning her damp softness right where he needed it.  He growled again, pressing her against the counter, thrusting against her as his hands roamed her body, cupping a full breast through the flimsy cotton material of her shirt.

Buffy whined in absolute surrender, tightening her legs.  She was completely helpless to stop him - not that it would have occurred to her to do so.  He laid her back on the counter and Buffy went willingly, pulling him with her.  He crouched over her, still molesting her mouth, still thrusting against her as he rolled a pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  Buffy's nimble fingers found the buttons of his shirt and swiftly had them undone, pushing the material out of the way.  She broke off the kiss to nip down his neck.  Angel groaned and lifted himself off her enough to allow him to unbuckle her belt.  Not even his undoing the button on her jeans or hissing her zipper down were enough to snap Buffy to her senses.  As he tried to inch the confining denim down her legs, she obligingly lifted her hips to help.  Soon she was wearing nothing but her sleeveless pink tanktop and a lacy white thong, laid out on the Hyperion's front desk, much more Slayer Buffet than Slayer Buffy.

Where all common sense had failed them, the shrill ringing of the telephone mere inches from their ears succeeded in interrupting their mutual molestations.  Angel was still crouched over her, one of his fingers hooked under the waistband of her panties.  Their eyes met, both of them panting harshly as the phone rang again.

Buffy licked her lips nervously.   She flicked a glance at the phone and then back to Angel.  "Maybe I should ..."

"Let it ring," he growled, kissing her again.  He grabbed the hem of her shirt, breaking off the kiss only long enough to pull the garment unceremoniously over her head.  Buffy pushed his shirt completely off of his shoulders and her fingers were fumbling with the buckle of his belt as the machine picked up.  She heard Wesley's recorded voice inform the caller of how busy they were - no doubt - and to leave the appropriate information.

She couldn't make her fingers work enough to get his belt undone and settled instead for cupping him through the supple leather of his pants.  They both groaned aloud as her palm pressed into the rigid length of his sex, stroking him lightly.

That was, of course, the cue for everything to go wrong.  "Buffy," Lindsey's voice chimed happily, "haven't managed to catch up with you for a while.  Just wanted to know if we could get together again some night this week.  I know you know who this is.  And don't mention anything to the boss.  Later, darlin'."

The second Angel heard Lindsey's lips wrap around his woman's name, all playfulness was gone.  Rage trembled through his powerful frame.  Moving painfully slow, every minute action calculated, Angel stared down at Buffy.  His large hands framed her face so she couldn't look away.  "Get together again some night," he repeated, his voice taut, incredulity and fury warring on his features.  "When  _exactly_  did you get together with Lindsey at night in the past?"

"I, uh ..."  Buffy trailed off pitifully.

Angel dipped his head, staring right into her eyes.  "When were you with that worthless, treacherous, soon-to-be-painfully-murdered sack of shit?"

"I didn't - " Buffy began.  "We didn't ... I mean ... "  She took a deep breath, her fear fading in the wake of her growing anger.  What right did he have to treat her like this?  They weren't a couple!  He had no right to know anything about her and Lindsey.  And trust issues much?  He was acting like all Lindsey had to do was snap his fingers and she would jump in the sack with him.  Of course, given the fact that she had been in the process of losing her virginity to Angel on top of the Hyperion's reception counter, maybe he had his reasons to wonder.  Which brought up a whole different host of issues.

Oh gawds, she was one of  _those_  girls.

"Get off me!" she snapped, pushing ineffectually at his chest.  She needed to find her clothes fast.

Angel didn't budge an inch, glaring down into her defiant countenance.  "When?" he demanded.

"None of your business," she ground out, trying to wriggle out from under him.

Angel growled in frustration.  "Stop squirming," he said through clenched teeth.

Buffy ignored him, determined to get free, get dressed and get out.  She was oblivious to the effect her writhing was having on his ability to reason.  Angel had to release her before he did something he would regret.  Abruptly he stood up, pulling Buffy off the counter and setting her on her feet before giving her a small shove away from him.  She stumbled backwards, sitting down hard on top of Willow's desk.  Her hair was a mess, spilling uncontrollably around her shoulders.  Her chest was heaving with the force of her breath and she was dressed in nothing but her underwear, a matching white lace demi-cup bra and thong.  Angel looked at her a moment, his expression unreadable, before he scooped his own shirt off the floor and threw it at her.

"Why the hurry?" he sneered, watching her cover herself with the blood red silk that still held the heat of his body.  "I know Lindsey isn't better than me."

Buffy glared at him and his ego.  "My hurrying doesn't have anything to do with Lindsey."

Angel swallowed harshly, forcing himself to calm down.  He wasn't accustomed to losing his temper.  He never lost his temper.  He was always completely, uncompromisingly calm ... except when Buffy was involved.  "This is serious, Buffy," he said.  "Lindsey is dangerous.  When were you with him and why?"

She wanted to scream in frustration.  "I didn't do anything with Lindsey!" she shouted.  "We just talked.  It was completely harmless."

"Harmless?" he choked in disbelief.  "Lindsey McDonald is a lot of things, but harmless isn't one of them.  He just talked to you, huh?  I bet he did.  Don't worry, give Lindsey half a chance and he'll talk himself into your pants."

"Well if he's trying to talk himself into my pants, he sure has a funny way of doing it," she said dryly.  "Besides, I already know that everything he said is a lie."

"Indeed," Angel replied coolly.  "What did he tell you?"

Buffy laughed mirthlessly.  "He told me that you love me," she said bluntly.

Angel blinked.  "He told you ... "  His voice trailed off and he looked at Buffy, his face utterly blank.

Shouts were audible from the courtyard in front of the hotel and Buffy and Angel knew they were about to be joined by the rest of Angel Investigations.  Mutely, Angel picked up Buffy's clothes, clamped one hand around her upper arm and dragged her into Wesley's office, locking the door and closing the blinds behind them.

Angel pulled one of the blinds down far enough to verify that Wesley, Groo, Gunn and Willow were indeed walking into the lobby.  He watched them filter in, listening as Willow replayed Lindsey's message and deleted it without placing a call back card on Buffy's desk.  He made a mental note to give Willow a raise.

Turning around, Angel faced Buffy.  Her anger had faded, leaving her feeling awkward and vulnerable.  She was mindlessly rubbing her upper arm where he had grabbed her.  Angel stepped closer, relieved when she didn't move away.  He stilled her motion by gently grasping her wrist in his fingers.  She looked up at him, her eyes wary.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head.  "I'm fine," she replied.

He took a deep breath.  "I'm ...  _sorry_ ," he said, the word sounding unfamiliar on his lips.  "I didn't mean to scare you or insult you.  I was just worried.  Lindsey hates me and he knows that hurting you would be the perfect way for him to get even."

"That's what he told me," she said flatly.

Angel shrugged.

Buffy looked at his hand, still wrapped around her wrist, and slowly covered it with her free hand, pulling it against her chest.  She felt, rather than saw, him sigh as he leaned in closer.  "Why would hurting me hurt you?" she asked quietly.  She looked up at him through her lashes.

He shrugged, shifting uneasily.  "I don't know - " he began, then stopped.  "I just ... "  He took a deep breath and said very seriously, "I would kill him if he ever hurt you, Buffy."

She looked up at him, into the lightless depths of his eyes and knew he spoke the absolute truth.  Angel was a product of his upbringing, of a reckless, selfish mother and a cold, controlling father.  He hadn't been taught unconditional love or even basic kindness.  Nothing in him was predisposed to gentle emotions.  But the fact that he lacked the vocabulary for love didn't mean he lacked the ability.

"Lindsey stopped in the office last week," she explained.  "The others made it clear he needed to leave, so he did.  He caught up with me a few days later on patrol.  We talked.  We parted ways.  I haven't seen him since."

"You weren't supposed to be patrolling last week," Angel said gruffly, pulling her closer.

Buffy went willingly into the circle of his arms.  "I was bored," she said unrepentantly, thrilled that he was letting the Lindsey subject drop.

He grinned at her wickedly.  "Well maybe I'll have to keep you busy then so you stay out of trouble."

"Really?" Buffy asked with a smile.  "And how do you propose to do that?"

She sighed as his lips met her own.  Gone was the earlier frantic hunger, but the passion between them was still plenty hot.  His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him as his other hand sifted through her hair.  Buffy's fingers played along the contours of his bare back, tracing the line of his spine, lightly scratching over the shoulder blade that she knew carried his tattoo.

He slipped a hand between their bodies, undoing the buttons of his shirt which shielded her body.  He parted the material, his fingertips skimming over her bare flesh.  Delighting in the shivers of pleasure that shook her slight frame.  As he pulled her to the floor with him, she did not protest.  She eagerly parted her legs as he slipped his own thigh between them.  His teeth nibbled at her bottom lip as one of his hands undid the front clasp of her bra.  He pushed the cups aside, palming her bare breast.  With a whine, Buffy arched into his touch, her nipple pebbling against his hand.  He broke off the kiss to slip her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.  Buffy's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her as she moved restlessly beneath him.

The doorknob rattled, startling Buffy.  Angel lifted his head from her breast only long enough to bellow, "Open that door and I will sell you into slavery in Pylea."

By the time Buffy heard Wesley's muffled, "Yes, sir," Angel was already suckling at her other breast.  Before long, he abandoned her breasts, kissing a line of fire down her stomach, stopping long enough to dip his tongue teasingly into her belly button. Buffy giggled and tried to roll over, but Angel held her fast.  He kissed along her hipbones, pressing a hard kiss to her tattoo.  His lips then ventured low across her belly, his tongue toying with the edge of her thong.  Once again, he hooked his thumb under the material and looked up into Buffy's eyes.

She was breathing hard, her lips parted in a pant.  She bit down on her bottom lip, nodding almost imperceptibly.  Temporary insanity, that's what it had to be.  She couldn't really be consenting to have sex with Angel on the floor of Wesley's office.  She just couldn't.  She let her head fall back, staring blindly up at the ceiling, oddly noting that Wesley needed to paint.  Her thoughts didn't linger long on the paint.

Angel grinned against the warm flesh of her abdomen and skimmed her lacy thong down her legs before insinuating himself between her thighs.  Buffy moved nervously, looking anywhere but at him.  Part of Angel was fiercely happy for the innocence that her actions belied, but he soon set out to make her forget about any modesty or restraint, to forget about everything but her hunger for him.

He gently pressed his lips to the downy hair covering her sex, his tongue tracing the delicate seam between her nether lips.  She sucked in her breath, arching against him.  Angel chuckled, but once again held her down, lowering his mouth to her again with wet, open-mouth kisses.  Using his thumbs, he parted her, licking her with the flat of his tongue, delighting in the feel of her fingernails biting painfully into his shoulders.  She smelled unbelievable, hot and wanton, her very essence a siren call to his body.

Buffy was made for him.  They were a matched set in every way and her reactions told him that even though her mind might protest, her flesh knew the truth.  He knew exactly how to touch her, how hard to suckle, when to delve deeper - not because he knew women, but because he knew her.  He sucked her hard, slippery, little nub between his lips as two of his long, talented fingers plumbed her depths experimentally.  She was tight, so tight and his body ached painfully to be inside her.  But this wasn't for him.  Not yet.

Angel had always enjoyed this.  Since his first fumbling days as a young teen, he had found power in the ability to bring women pleasure.  He loved listening to their breathy moans, the delicious hitches in their breathing.  But now, all his other memories dimmed in the reality of Buffy.  She was beyond his wildest dreams, a wanton creature thoroughly created for him and him alone.  The way she tasted, the way she smelled, it was all so perfect.  His fingers delved deeper and he felt the physical evidence of her virginity.  He couldn't prevent the growl of absolute male satisfaction that rumbled in his chest.  With the evidence of her surprised groans, her continual blushing, he knew no other male had trespassed on his territory.

Filled with masculine pride, he suckled harder, curling his fingers inward, knowingly stroking her g-spot.  Buffy let out a breathy whine, her thighs tightening against his sides as her hips rolled.  He granted her unspoken plea, humming gently around her slick bud.

Her body corded, her back bowing as she climaxed under his touch in a series of breathy whimpers.  He continued to suckle her, riding out her wave of pleasure before finally lifting his mouth from her as she went bonelessly limp.  His expression smug, he crawled up her body.

Languidly, she turned her head to him, lazily kissing him.  She noted with some mortification that his face was wet - wet with her fluids.  She blushed, but kissed him deeper.  Angel smiled against her mouth, one hand cupping her cheek.

Though she was horribly embarrassed, she met his gaze before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.  He smiled at her before rolling onto his back, pulling her astride him.  She looked down at him, her blond locks fluttering wildly around her bare shoulders.  His hand traced along her jaw, down her throat, then followed the line of her collarbones before cupping her breast.  The other hand bit into her thigh.  Buffy could feel him, still hard, pressing against her though they were separated by his leather pants.

Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips before she looked down and very deliberately found his belt buckle with her hand.  With an agonized groan, Angel closed his hand over hers, stilling her movements.  His eyes pressed tightly shut, he cursed under his breath.  "I can't believe I'm going to say this," he muttered.  Opening his eyes, he looked up at Buffy, his lips pursed together in a decidedly unhappy line.  "Not tonight," he said.  "Not like this."

Buffy looked down at him, confused.  She was suddenly painfully aware of her nudity as she visually scanned the room for her clothes.

Angel saw the hurt on her features and mentally cursed himself again.  "It's not you, Buffy," he said.

She looked at him, her expression incredulous.  "Oh I know," she bit back sarcastically.  "It's you, right?  I can't believe I'm such an idiot."

He growled, clamping his hands around her hips as she tried to crawl off him.  "Damn it, Buffy," he swore.  He thrust up against her and despite her pain and anger, she groaned, her eyes fluttering shut at the wicked sensation.  "How can you think I don't want you?" he demanded.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, more confused than ever.  "Then what are you waiting on?" she countered.

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut.  And opened it and clamped it shut again.  "Damn it, I'm trying to do the right thing," he snapped.

"So you're Bill Clinton now?" she asked.  "What you just did to me wasn't sex and now to keep your conscience clean, we can't actually consummate anything?"

He gave her a withering glare.  "Why do you always have to make everything so damned difficult?" he asked.  "I don't want it to happen like this.  I don't want to fuck you on the floor of Wesley's office."  He stopped himself and reconsidered.  "Scratch that.  I very much do want to fuck you on the floor of Wesley's office, but I'm not going to."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because you deserve better," he growled.

Buffy took a moment to appreciate the absolute insanity of their argument and let out a snort that soon snowballed into a full-blown fit of the giggles.

Angel laughed too and then groaned helplessly.  "This is going pretty well, don't you think," he said wryly.

When she was recovered, Buffy's hand once again found his belt buckle.  Angel narrowed his eyes at her.  "I heard what you said," she announced, cutting off his lecture.  "But I also know that you're not the only one who gets to play."

Shocked, but excited by her bold declaration, Angel relaxed back on the floor, acquiescing to her demands.  There was nothing more sexy than Buffy when she was determined to do something - especially when it was to him.  As her hands finally released his belt and carefully slid down his zipper, he hissed.

"Going commando, Angel," Buffy mused.  "Color me not shocked."

Angel's reply was cut short by her hand wrapping around his stiff cock.  His breath caught in his throat and he arched under her, his fingers biting into her thighs.  With her free hand, Buffy worked the tight leather down his hips far enough to free his rigid sex and then went to work exploring him.  Buffy may have been a virgin, but she was no innocent.  She'd seen her share of naked males in the past and she knew enough to know that Angel was one hell of a specimen.  She stroked him, delighting in the strangled noises issuing from his throat.

Her hand was slick with the pre-ejaculate beading from the head of his cock and she used it to ease her movement.  She took her time, seeing how he responded to different speeds, different pressures.  She stroked him from root to head, watching his nearly pained expression, delighting in the feel of his hips straining under her.  Her hands roamed over him, testing his girth, gently cupping his testicles which tightened under her touch.  She looked down at his sex and unconsciously licked her lips in a timid gesture.  She'd never given a guy that sort of satisfaction.  She'd never felt even remotely compelled to take one into her mouth, but she remembered the way Angel's mouth had made her feel and she wanted to experience that power.  She wanted to make him as mindless as he made her.

She abandoned her position straddling him, moving to crouch next to him, giving her better access.  Angel opened his eyes and was about to protest the loss of her delicious weight on his hips when he realized what she intended to do.  She leaned forward, wrapping her lips around the mushroom head, and he couldn't restrain a sharp cry of pleasure.  She swirled her tongue around him, taking in his distinctive taste and texture.  Ford had always wanted her to do this and she had always balked, finding it dirty and degrading.  At the moment, she felt anything but degraded.  His taste was musky, vaguely salty and all Angel.  She suckled him more insistently, searching for his flavor.  He mewled helplessly, one of his large hands finding the small of her back and kneading in time to the pressure of her mouth.  Having the ability to make Angel pant her name in breathy little whines filled her with power.  He was helpless beneath her, dependent on her for pleasure and she loved it.

She stroked him faster, sucking on the head of his cock as her hand pumped relentlessly.  His body went taut and he choked out her name, trying to warn her.  Buffy knew what was going to happen.  She knew that she could pull away.  But she didn't.  She sucked him harder, taking him deeper into her throat as he spilled into her waiting mouth.  Buffy swallowed him down, sucking his softening flesh clean of every drop.

Her face burned both with satisfaction and embarrassment.  What would he think of her?  Nice girls weren't supposed to do what she had just done.  Tentatively, she sat back on her heels, licking her lips as she turned to face him.

Any worries about him being disappointed with her were quickly assuaged.  Angel threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her close for a deep kiss.  Buffy was certain a guy wouldn't want to kiss her after that, but Angel growled in obvious pleasure as he licked at her lips, tasting himself on her.  It was long moments before they finally broke apart.  When Buffy finally pulled back, she met Angel's eyes.  The naked longing there burned through her body.  It wasn't a physical need, but something deeper, something infinitely more vulnerable.

She could sense a war within him, a conflict to which she was not privy.  But as soon as she recognized it, he shuttered his gaze.  She could almost feel him pull away from her emotionally.

He looked at her, his gaze flat and appraising, his manner cold.  She had the impression he had just come to some decision.  He seemed upset with himself.  "They're going to wonder what we're doing in here," Angel said, his eyes on the door.

Buffy blushed slightly but shrugged, trying to ignore how much his change in demeanor bothered her.  Great, now he regretted what they had done.  "I didn't think you cared one way or another what people thought," she said.

"I keep my own counsel," he replied dryly, his manner brusque, "but regardless of what your father or the social gossips might say, I don't make it a habit of carrying out my affairs in full view."

"Oh," Buffy said softly, feeling infinitely stupid.  So she was an affair.  She forced herself to smile, not wanting him to see how his cold, businesslike manner stung.  For some insane reason, she thought this little interlude meant ... something.  How perfectly naïve of her.  What did she think?  That Angel was going to make a profession of his undying devotion just because she swallowed his cum?  Her stomach roiled uneasily.  He was obviously upset, most likely with himself.

Turning his attention from her, Angel reached out and grabbed her shirt.  He handed it to her abruptly.  Buffy was unable to meet his eyes as she clasped the shirt to her bare chest, feeling raw and overexposed.  She'd heard of bad morning afters, but this was unbelievable.  Pushing herself to her feet, she reached for the rest of her clothes and turned away from him.  Angel found his clothes as well and in moments they were both dressed.  He reached for her and she held still, feeling awkward and unsure as he casually picked a few pieces of lint off the back of her shirt.  She wondered if it was proper etiquette to thank him for letting her come first.

"There's a mirror in the bathroom," Angel said.  "You should do something about your hair."

Buffy nodded and was grateful to close the door to the private bathroom.  She stared at her reflection under the harsh light.  Her hair was a mess and her lips were swollen.  There were slight abrasions on her cheeks and chin from his stubble-roughened face.  She looked like a two-bit whore.  She felt like one too.

She took a deep breath.  She couldn't fall apart.  Not now.  Later, alone in her own room she could curse her stupidity, but for now, she had to get through this without letting Angel know how much he could hurt her - how much he had hurt her.  She turned on the water and splashed some on her face before rinsing out her mouth.  She couldn't get rid of the taste of him.  Mentally pushing away that fact, she patted herself dry with paper towels and did her best to right her hair.  It wasn't perfect, but since she'd already been on one patrol tonight, no one would expect her to look impeccable.  Not that she ever did look impeccable anymore.  Buffy frowned again, looking at her cosmetic-free face and the uninspired ponytail.  Oh yeah, she definitely looked like someone Angel would get serious about.  She was an idiot.  But once again, she forced the thoughts away.  She had to be strong for a while longer.  Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and faced Angel.

He nodded to the outer door without a word.  Buffy followed his order and pulled open the door.  Walking into the area behind the former reception desk, she saw that Wesley and Willow had already left again, but that Faith was now talking to Groo.

"B," Gunn said with a whistle, "what were you doing in there?"

"None of your goddamned business," Angel said, exiting the office on her heels.  Gunn clamped his mouth shut, not having realized it was the boss locked in the office with Buffy.

Angel looked at Buffy, his expression cold and hard.  He handed her a piece of paper.  "Corner of Twelfth and Walnut.  Demon named Merle.  Find out what he knows about any black market Ferula-Gemina.  Beat it out of him if necessary."

Buffy nodded.  So they were just going to pretend nothing happened.  Fine by her.  "You got it," she said.

"Gunn," Angel continued, "get Wesley on the phone.  I need him back here.  I'm going out of town for a few days and he's in charge."

Seeing that she was dismissed, Buffy turned, heading for the doors.  Her eyes caught with Faith's.  The brunette smirked knowingly and then mimed wiping the side of her mouth.  Buffy blushed, but kept going.

[end chapter 13]


	15. Chapter 15

The trembling started before Angel made it out of the Hyperion.  By the time he slid behind the wheel of his BMW, his magicks were so scattered that it was difficult maintaining a coherent thought.  When he was with Buffy, touching her, the rush was so intense, the pleasure so intense that he didn't feel any negative effects.  But the second she was gone, he was falling apart.

This couldn't continue.  He knew that.  He couldn't keep getting close to Buffy and then backing away abruptly.  Maybe if he was with her more ...  The thought trailed off into nothingness.  Angel already knew what would happen.  He would be fine as long as he was with Buffy, and the second they stopped touching, he would be right back here.  And the more he touched her, the more violent his reaction afterwards was becoming.  It wasn't exactly manageable.  He couldn't very well expect to keep touching Buffy indefinitely.

He cursed under his breath.  The only answer, if he wanted to maintain his power and magicks, was to make sure he never touched her again.  But he'd known that before he went to the Hyperion this evening.  Obviously that knowledge hadn't stopped him from almost taking Buffy on the floor of Wesley's office.  He couldn't control his reaction to her.  His hunger for her was so intense that all reason was lost.

*****

"It doesn't make you special, you know."

Buffy closed her eyes, shaking her head in disgust.  She was standing in the bathroom again, only this time she was trying to wash Merle's blood out of her shirt.  It was the soft, gray long sleeve she wore almost every night, and she wasn't in the mood to try and find a new favorite shirt because of a demon bloodstain.  Looking at the brown water flowing down the sink, she felt sort of bad.  Merle was a creep, but he didn't seem terribly evil.  It wasn't his fault that she had a Very Bad Day.  But even beating Merle unconscious didn't make her feel any better about herself.  The last thing she needed right now was Faith.  All Buffy wanted was to go home and go to sleep.  Turning, she looked at her sister Slayer.  "I don't know what you're talking about," she said wearily.

Faith snorted, taking a seat atop Wesley's desk.  "You're just the most recent in a very long line, blondie," she said cattily, idly cleaning her fingernails with an extremely wicked looking knife.

Buffy turned off the water.  "Actually, you're the most recent," Buffy snapped.  "I'm the elder Slayer."

Faith cocked an eyebrow.  "Wow, so Pollyanna does have some spine.  That's good.  Of course, I already know that you know that's not what I meant.  I'm talking about Roarke."

"What about Roarke?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Faith looked around the room, smiling.  "The office floor," she said.  "Now that's a new one.  Roarke and I did it in a lot of places, but never Wesley's office."

Buffy felt like she'd just been punched in the stomach.

Laughing coldly, Faith said, "Like I told you, you're just the most recent in a long line."

Doing her best to recover, Buffy said, "Why should it make a damn bit of difference what you two did?"

Faith shrugged.  "So you're into open relationships," she said.  "Cool.  I was just going to wait until he got tired of you to have another go, but if you two aren't pretending to be exclusive, I might just give him a call tonight."

"There is nothing between me and Roarke," Buffy bit out.

"Sure there isn't," Faith sneered.  "They're called Slayer senses, babe.  Your breath smelled like his cum.  I should know."

Buffy couldn't respond.

"I think my favorite place was on the stage at Caritas," Faith mused.  "He ever do you there?  Doggie style.  All the lights on, a few janitors still mopping up.  Damn, that was hot.  He's one hell of a piece of meat.  Sometimes the pretty ones are all style, no substance, but that boy damn sure knows how to use his gifts."

"I have no desire to hear about your slutty escapades," Buffy ground out, bile rising at the back of her throat.

Faith smiled, knowing her barbs were working.  "Slutty?" she asked, feigning hurt.  "Come on, girlfriend, the sexual revolution was decades ago.  I'm not a slut, I'm merely expressing my sexual freedom.  With your new boyfriend."

"You're a whore," Buffy countered coldly.

"A whore?  For sleeping with Roarke?"  Faith laughed.  "I'd argue that he's the one who's the whore, but if I'm one then I guess your precious roommate is one too."

Buffy thought the night couldn't get any worse, but she had just been proven very wrong.

"You didn't know that either?" Faith asked happily.  "Oh yeah, Willow and Roarke were hot and heavy for a while.  It didn't last long.  At least not long after Willow's lesbian lover found out.  Ask her if you don't believe me.  Little witch never could lie worth a damn."

Unable to bear another moment of Faith's taunting barbs, Buffy left.

*****

"What the?" Lindsey sat up on the couch where he'd passed out, blinking rapidly in the harsh light.  As soon as his pupils had adjusted enough to focus, he looked at the intruder.  "What do you want?" he demanded with a sneer.

Angel walked around the grimly little apartment, surveying Lindsey's possessions with obvious distaste.  "You're supposed to be in Austin, Linds."

"Yeah, well, things change," Lindsey said flippantly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  He didn't bother getting off the couch or offering Angel a seat.

"You called Buffy tonight."

Lindsey exhaled and shrugged.  "Yeah.  So?"

"Aside from the fact that I'll kill you if you go near her again," Angel said blandly, "you have to know that you don't have a chance."

Lindsey looked around the interior of his apartment.  "What?  You're saying that this isn't a tempting package?" he asked, his voice thick with self-loathing.

Angel looked at Lindsey, trying to deny how much it pained him to see the once proud young man brought so low.  Lindsey had always sworn he would never be like his father, never stand idly by while someone walked away with his life.  That much remained constant.  No doubt Lindsey felt him completely responsible for his current state and thought revenge was his only recourse.   Angel's lips pursed into a thin, hard line.  "You chose this path," he said.

"No, you're wrong there," Lindsey countered with vitriol.  "I strictly remember having a high rise condo, a new Mercedes and a track to a partnership at the biggest law firm in town.  Until you arranged for it to all be taken away."

"It didn't have to end like that," Angel said.  "You were the one who wanted all or nothing."

Lindsey smirked.  "Let's just say that there were limits as to how much of a bitch I was willing to be for you."

Angel ignored his comment and took a seat in a threadbare recliner, propping his feet up on Lindsey's scarred, rickety coffee table.  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, taking a deep breath.

"Not feeling well?" Lindsey asked with feigned sweetness.

Opening his eyes, Angel glared.  "What do you know about it?" he demanded.

Lindsey slumped back against the cushions, his features coolly neutral.  "I still have a few friends at Wolfram and Hart," he said evenly.

Angel put his feet on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.  "And what exactly does Wolfram and Hart know about me and the Slayer?"

Lindsey smiled maliciously.  "Surely you've figured it out by now," Lindsey said in mocking tones.  "That beautiful little girl is your Kryptonite, Superman."

A low growl sounded in Angel's throat.  He was in no mood for Lindsey's games.  "What the fuck are you talking about?" he spat.

Lindsey looked positively gleeful.  "She's your home, Clark," he said happily.  "Whatever inside you is still human is drawn to her."  Lindsey smiled so wide you could almost see his wisdom teeth.  "But get too close to her and it'll kill the rest of you."

Angel snarled.  "And what's in it for you?"

"For me?" Lindsey asked flippantly.  "Nothing but a sense of bone deep satisfaction.  You see, if you get rid of her, you'll keep your power, but you'll end up breaking the heart of the only person on this earth that you'll ever truly love."  Lindsey's voice was light, but he couldn't fully mask his anger.   "And if you don't send her packing, then you can kiss all your dark magicks goodbye.  Either way I figure I want a ringside seat.  And who knows, if you break her heart or die, then maybe she'll need some consoling."

Angel looked at Lindsey, unable to muster anything more virulent than pity towards him.  Shaking his head, Angel asked, "What did I do to wound you so deeply?"

Lindsey's expression sobered instantly.  Looking for distraction, he finished off what remained of a glass of whiskey.  "Wolfram and Hart aren't exactly sure what will happen to you if you decide to keep the Slayer," he said blandly, not making eye contact.  "They have their demonic bean counters running scenarios, but so far they can't tell.  You're a slippery creature anyway, a human imbued with demonic power.  Unlike a Slayer, you don't have a thousand generations of forerunners to help bear out the consequences.  They figure it all comes down to your soul."  Lindsey's tone became conspiratorial.  "That's what they insist on calling it," he said acridly.  "Personally, I don't think you have a soul."

Angel frowned, but dared not interrupt.  He needed to know what Lindsey knew.

"The way they see it," Lindsey continued, "your soul and your dark power are in flux.  They always have been.  But for whatever reason, that little girl pushes the issue."

"And what could Wolfram and Hart possibly stand to gain from this?" Angel asked snidely.

Lindsey rolled his eyes.  "They stand to gain what they've always wanted. You out of the picture."

Angel snorted at the very idea.

"They think the most likely scenario," Lindsey said, "is that you'll ditch the girl."

The muscles in Angel's jaw flexed, but he remained silent.

Lindsey smiled.  "But see," he said, "I think that's where they're wrong.  They don't know you the way I know you.  They don't know that this Slayer is more than just another weapon in your arsenal and a warm body in your bed."

He stared expectantly at Angel, but the latter declined to elaborate.  Lindsey sighed and his amusement seemed to die.  "Whatever humanity remains inside of you belongs to that girl," he said plainly.

Angel watched his former confidant, but allowed his expression to betray nothing.  Regardless of their past, they would never be close again.  The intimacy that had existed was long dead and buried under years of seething anger, betrayal and jealousy.  Lindsey deserved no answers about his relationship with Buffy.

Lindsey laughed and it was a cold sound.  He flicked his ash into a nearby cup and took another drag on the cigarette.  He held his hand up, staring at the glowing red tip.  "She'll be your death," Lindsey mused.  "There isn't enough humanity left in you to win this battle."  He smiled mirthlessly, lifting his gaze to meet Angel's.  "I'm going to love watching you lose."

*****

It was past dawn when Buffy finally made it home, her clothes disheveled, covered in vampire ash and demon goo.  Hours of mindless fighting had left her physically numb, but her emotional anguish still held strong.  She pressed the front door shut, leaning back against it.

"Thank gods, Buffy," Willow exclaimed, running into the room.  "We've all been so wor-"  She fell short, taking in Buffy's haggard appearance.  "Buffy are you okay?" she asked, carefully venturing forward.

Buffy lifted her head and Willow stopped dead in her tracks.

"Tell me the truth," Buffy said very slowly.  "Were you and Angel lovers?"

Willow's eyes went wide and she looked around the room frantically.  "Buffy you need to rest," she said.

"Tell me," Buffy ground out.

Silence hung heavy in the air as the two women looked at each other.

Willow took a deep breath.  "It didn't last long," she admitted.  "A couple of weeks.  I was getting in over my head with the magicks and being with someone like him, someone of his power, was exciting.  It was wrong.  We were wrong.  When Tara found out ... I almost lost her.  It was one of the dumbest things I've ever done."

Buffy snorted.  "You must think I'm so stupid," she said.  "You let me think ... You knew that there was something going on between me and Angel and you never said a word."

"Buffy what you have with Roarke ... It's different.  He and I were just - it was sex and magick.  Nothing more.  The way he looks at you, the way he talks about you.  Buffy, it's different."

"And Faith?" Buffy demanded.  "What about her?  Was he different with her too?"

Willow groaned, shaking her head.  "Oh gods," she said, "this is all that bitch's fault, isn't it?  Buffy, she's messing with your head.  Faith is rotten to the core.  She is a miserable hateful person and she wants everyone around her to be miserable too.  She probably guessed there was something up with you and Roarke and she's doing her best to sabotage it."

"Did he fuck her?"

"Buffy, you have to understand Faith is broken - "

"Did he fuck her?" Buffy demanded.

Willow nodded sadly.  "But it wasn't - "

Buffy didn't listen to the rest, turning on her heel and leaving the apartment again.   
 

*****

Jenny didn't say a word when she opened the door, she just enveloped Buffy in a hug.  Unable to control her emotions any longer, Buffy broke down into sobbing tears, clutching at her stepmother's shoulders, fighting to remain upright.  Jenny supported her slight weight, half dragging her to her former rooms in the pool house.  Once there, she helped Buffy into her nightgown, promising she could have a nice long shower after she got a little rest.

A little rest turned out to be a lot of rest.  It was the next morning when Buffy woke, feeling physically stronger, but numb.  She drained the glass of water Jenny had left on her bedside table and then sat under the spray of her shower until the water started to run cold.

Buffy noticed with mild amusement that nothing had changed since the morning she stormed out.  Everything had been left exactly the way it was, as if waiting for her to return.  But even with the aching familiarity, Buffy felt wrong.  The array of designer dresses hanging in her closet cost more than she made in a month now.  They seemed completely alien.  The slick fashion magazines on her nightstand seemed as detached from her current existence as one could possibly get.  She no longer fit into this life.

Rummaging around in a pile of clothes that she had been intending to give to charity, Buffy found a worn pair of denim jeans and a lightweight long sleeved black shirt.  She dressed and then pulled her hair back into its customary ponytail.  She faced herself in the full-length mirror.

She was no longer Buffy Summers, prom queen.  She was the Slayer.  She turned away from the mirror, shaking her head, unable to even muster the energy to hate herself.  Apparently, Angel just made it a habit of sleeping with all of his female employees.  Like Faith said, she was just the most recent in a long line.  Except that she wasn't the most recent.  Not really.  Angel had messed around with her, but he made it clear he wouldn't sleep with her.  Tears of pain and self-loathing slid down her cheeks.  At least Faith had a good time, she used Angel and enjoyed it.  She might be a skank, but she hadn't made the mistake of falling in love with him.

And in a cold hard moment of self-awareness, Buffy knew that's what it was.  She knew that somewhere over the last weeks that she had fallen hopelessly in love with Angel.  She stopped pushing him away, stopped ignoring their connection and let herself forget the bad parts.  Angel was, after all, her other half.  She allowed herself to fall victim to his manipulations.  She even let herself believe the lies of a man who hated Angel and wanted revenge at any cost.  She took a series of random coincidences and turned them into evidence that Angel did care.  Evidence that was strictly her imagination.

She was in love with Angel and there was nothing she could do to change that fact.  She loved him now.  Hell, she loved him when she was eight.  She would still love him when she was eighty.  But that love didn't mean she had to lose all self-respect.  It didn't mean she had to sit by listening to Faith's taunting barbs.  She didn't have to be convenient whenever Angel wanted a little distraction.  Her life was in upheaval, but the only solid thing she had at the moment was that she was the Slayer.  Buffy Summers, prom queen, might be long dead.  Angel might have been playing her from the first day.  She might have no place to live, no friends and no definite future.  But when it all came down to it, Buffy was the Slayer and she still had herself.

Resolved that she would find some way through this, Buffy shoved her feet into her boots and headed for the main house to tell her parents she was leaving.

[End Chapter 14]


	16. Chapter 16

"Is there anything else you will require, sir?"

Angel shook his head, not bothering to look over his shoulder as the somber attendant pulled the door shut.  He took a seat at the small table, staring at the dull gray box.  There was nothing else to divert his attention.  The room was tiny, windowless, all of the walls painted a gleaming white.  There was only the table and the box.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Angel leaned back in his chair.  He had yet to sleep.  He'd gone straight from Lindsey's rat hole to LAX.  He hadn't managed to rest on the flight to New York.  After this little errand was finished, he would go to his penthouse with the great view of Central Park and hopefully catch a few hours of sleep.  Since he was in town, he would take care of a few business negotiations and then catch a flight back to Los Angeles.  But first, he had to finish this task.

Being near Buffy killed the part of him that gave him power.  Her indomitable light was anathema to his darkness ...

It should have been an easy call to make, but it wasn't.  Buffy set his soul free.  He took a deep breath and a shudder trembled painfully through his body.  For as long as he could remember, he thought that power was everything.  He would - and did - sacrifice everything he was for power.  Power meant never again being at the mercy of another human being, subject to their whims.  Power meant no longer being forced to endure that which he could not change.

But for all of its advantages, power had never once made him happy.  It had never once eased his pain the way merely being in Buffy's presence did.

Ignoring the weakness in his hand, he reached for the safety deposit box.

*****

As Buffy should have anticipated, an easy escape was not in the cards.  While her father's manner was reserved and tentative, Jenny openly fussed over her.  She insisted she stay for lunch and then guilted Buffy into spending most of the afternoon with her two half-siblings - which, actually, was rather enjoyable.  Before she knew it, Buffy was stuck staying for supper.  Buffy finally drew the line when Jenny suggested she simply stay the night again.  Tempting though it was, Buffy was firm about her plans to leave.  Jenny took the opportunity to pull out all the stops.  She pressed for her to move back in, to start college like she had planned and to most of all cut Angel out of her life.

Though Buffy was still stinging from her own recent realizations about her relationship with Angel, she found that she couldn't bear for Jenny to know how much of a fool she had been.  Buffy adamantly denied that Angel was anything but absolutely respectful and fair.  She found herself defending his honor even as she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.

Jenny's frown let her know that she wasn't convinced about Angel's apparent valor.  Nor was she supportive of Buffy's leaving.  She tried everything she could to get her stepdaughter to reconsider, but Buffy was firm.  Buffy didn't know where she was going - staying with Willow didn't seem doable at the moment.  She didn't know what the future held, but she knew she had to find out on her own.

Leaving as she had arrived, Buffy slid into the back of a taxi.  She needed to talk to Wesley.  She had been in a rush two nights ago.  She left her phone at the Hyperion after her run-in with Faith and in current fashion, she had no idea what her Watcher's phone number was.  It was stored in her cell, which she didn't have.  Damn her for not keeping an address book.  Without the phone, her only option was seeing Wes face to face.  He was her Watcher and though he was loyal to Angel, she had never sensed any animosity or manipulation within him.  Maybe he could secure her an advance on her paycheck and point her to another Watcher.  Buffy knew that Sunnydale was a hotbed of demon activity.  Surely they could use a Slayer over there, especially now that Faith was back at work.   It might even be interesting and a little comforting to go home after all this time.

Buffy vaguely remembered Angel saying he was leaving town for a few days - thank you gods.  But she didn't know where Wesley would be.  She couldn't stand the thought of going to the Hyperion and chancing another meeting with Faith.  Nor was she in the mood for Caritas and Lorne's unsolicited advice.  She wasn't about to go to Angel's home.  That left Temple Flesh as the last contact point.  Somebody there would know how to get in contact with Wesley.

*****

There was already a line around the block when the taxi dumped her out, despite the fact that it wasn't yet midnight.  Buffy groaned.  Scores of gorgeous starlets and models waited their turn to enter, making Buffy feel even more removed from her former life.  A year ago, she would have been one of them.  Now they seemed completely foreign.  Buffy walked to the front of the line, nodding to Groo as she brushed past him and into the club.  Buffy couldn't ignore the protests or the catty comments hurled at her by the throngs as she entered while they had to wait.

Gunn was working and Buffy smiled sweetly enough to get him to call Wesley and arrange for the Watcher to meet her at Temple Flesh.  Wes was apparently in the middle of something and it would be at least two before he could be there.  Buffy was nonplussed.  She had no desire to wait around the club, but she had little choice.

As Gunn pushed through the patrons to head off a fight before it began, Buffy leaned back against the wall, wishing Wesley would hurry.  Her wish was not granted.  Buffy groaned as she caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.  She tried to duck out of the way, but was unsuccessful.

"Hiding?" Lindsey drawled.  "Funny thing for a Slayer to be doing."

Ashamed at having been caught trying to duck him, Buffy slowly turned around and faced Lindsey with a wry grin.  "You shouldn't be in here," she said.

Lindsey shrugged.  "Word is, Roarke is out of town.  Seemed like prime time to drop in and see the place."

"That all you're doing?" Buffy asked warily.

"For the most part," he said.  "I'm spending some time with new acquaintances."

Buffy raised her eyebrows.  She had no doubts about Lindsey and his acquaintances.   There was no way a woman could be platonic with that man.  Well - unless she was entangled with Angel as well.  Of course, Buffy had previously thought the number of people in that potential situation was small.  How perfectly childish of her to make that assumption.  Overwhelmed with a fresh heaping of self-loathing, Buffy was searching for a way out of the conversation.  Unfortunately, she didn't find one quickly enough.

"Oh, my god," Sunday sneered with a malevolent smile, "isn't it just too wonderful that we ran into you tonight?"

Buffy turned and looked at the small group of people who were approaching.  Sunday, Cordelia and Ford all looked like they stepped out of a Vogue fashion shoot.  Buffy's mouth went dry as she watched Sunday lock her arm through Lindsey's, looking exceedingly comfortable.  The predatory glint in her beautiful eyes unmistakable.

Buffy's teeth ground together.  She didn't need this.  Faith's taunts, Willow's admissions and Jenny's warnings still echoed in her ears.  She wasn't up to a confrontation with Sunday and Cordelia, especially when they were flanked by Ford and Lindsey.

"I heard you were down on your luck," Sunday said with a blinding smile, "but I didn't realize that you were going in for the whole Melissa Etheridge lifestyle."

Buffy flushed hotly, but forced herself not to cower.  She was a Slayer.  Her clothes were not an attractive ensemble.  They weren't designed to be. The outfit was functional when chasing vampires and demons through sewers and abandoned factories.  Of course, Buffy wouldn't have been caught dead in such rags in high school.  Previous to her debut as a Slayer, she would have made Sunday look like the sad imitation.  But so much had changed between then and now.  Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her chest.

In high school, when dealing with Sunday, Buffy had been unerringly confident.  She was a cheerleader, the prom queen, and the debutante daughter of one of the Los Angeles elite.  She spent more money on her wardrobe in a week than she made in an entire month on the A.I. payroll.

But Buffy wasn't that shallow, vacuous girl any longer.  She was a bouncer and a Slayer.  She had to make rent, buy groceries and save up money for school.  Buffy spent the entire summer immersed in her life as a Slayer, surrounded by magicks, demons and violence.  She had grown as a woman and as a Slayer.

But at the moment, looking at Sunday dressed in all of her slutty glory, Buffy couldn't help but feel like a silly tomboy.  She kept playing Faith's taunts over in her mind.  She was just Angel's most recent conquest.  Of course he didn't actually care about her.  He probably laughed at her behind her back, amused by her willingness.  Buffy looked at Lindsey.  He made eye contact for only a moment before his gaze flitted away.

"You're even more pathetic than I'd heard," Sunday gloated.

Lindsey had the decency to look embarrassed by his date's behavior, but he was helpless to rein in Sunday.  After everything that had happened, Buffy simply could not take this.  She felt her stomach twist violently and was on the verge of bolting when a deep voice shattered the strained silence.

"Is there a problem here?" Angel asked.  His tone was casual, but Buffy heard the malevolent undertones.

Startled, she flicked her head towards him.  What was he doing here?  He was supposed to be out of town.  "Angel?" she said without thinking.

Sunday laughed and it was more of a cackle.  "Jesus Christ, Buffy, did your memory go, too, when you lost your fashion sense?" she derided.  " _Angel?_ " she said, mocking Buffy's voice.  Her expression was hard and cruel.  "His name is Liam Roarke, you backwater dyke."

Buffy stared blankly at Sunday, her eyes welling with tears she would not allow herself to shed.  Sunday had always been a bitch, but this level of unrestrained antagonism was completely unexpected.  She was numb.  Buffy did not react as Angel walked up behind her, putting a decidedly possessive hand over her abdomen as he pulled her back against his large frame, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Actually," Angel said calmly, though his voice was rife with condescension, "my given name is Angel.  Only two people in the world are allowed to use it to address me."  Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against Buffy's temple, nuzzling against her briefly.  "Ionuin is one of them."

Buffy watched Sunday flush in the wake of her fading bravado.  Sunday's fingers tightened around Lindsey's arm and she swallowed harshly, trying vainly to regroup.  Liam Roarke was the epitome of everything Sunday desired in a man.  He was sinfully handsome, wealthy, predatory - an alpha male in every sense.   The fact that he would protect Buffy, touch her so possessively was an affront to the code of conduct by which Sunday lived.  Buffy lost and losers didn't get to walk away with the prize.  Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Sunday said cattily, " _Ionuin?_   Is that your real name?  I hope so, because I always thought Buffy was absolutely wretched."

Angel laughed, but somehow it was completely devoid of mirth.  There was a barely contained darkness in the sound that raised goose bumps all over Buffy's flesh.  Through slitted eyes, he looked at Sunday.  "Ionuin is Gaelic," he said in a low, warning rumble.  "It is a term of affection.  It means beloved."

Buffy forced herself not to show surprise.  Beloved?  She always thought it was derisive.  Angel's grip tightened.  Buffy allowed herself to melt back against him, molding to the long lines of his powerful body as if seeking shelter.  The part of her she thought died with Faith's words sprang to life once again despite her best efforts to quell it.  Angel called her beloved.  His hands held her anchored to his body.  For reasons she could not explain, Buffy knew that Angel would protect her with any means necessary.  She wasn't proud of the fact that she had stupidly fallen in love with him, shared intimate pleasure with him, but she wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

Sunday watched them predatorily, and for the first time that night, Buffy did not flinch under the weight of her gaze.  She knew that she and Angel had to look like an odd pair, he impeccable as always and she looking decidedly worse for the wear.  But Buffy also knew a few other truths.  She knew that from their body language Sunday could tell they were comfortable with each other's presence and touch.  The bitch might be entertaining herself with Lindsey, but Buffy knew that Sunday wasn't going to get serious about someone who worked as a public defender.  Lindsey might be hot, but he had his flaws.  Angel was the real prize.  He was the end to which Sunday's entire existence was geared.  Sunday would sell her soul for a man like Angel.

A wicked thought occurred to Buffy and her lips curled back into a snarling smile.  Sunday wanted Angel.  Sunday could never, ever have him.  But Buffy could - even dressed like a pin-up from "Butch" magazine.  The large warm hand on her abdomen holding her to him, the protective stance, the possessive term of endearment - all of it told Buffy that regardless of the fact that she might simply be his latest conquest, that he would play along with any game she wished.  Emboldened by that knowledge, Buffy twisted in Angel's embrace, nuzzling against the warm flesh where his shoulder met his neck.  He smiled with pure masculine satisfaction.

Sunday watched in shock as Buffy, dressed like some sort of refugee, curled into Liam Roarke's embrace.  This was not happening.  The mere idea was absolutely foreign.  Buffy had lost the war.  She was no longer the "It" girl.  She had no money, no clothes, nothing - and to top it all off, she was still a virgin!  She had nothing to offer a jaded, carnal man like Liam Roarke.  Yet, the physical evidence was right in front of her.  For whatever reason, he wanted Buffy Summers.

Sunday lusted after Liam Roarke, but she was not a victim to her emotions.  She wasn't about to save face at the expense of insulting one of the most powerful men in Los Angeles.  She knew how ruthless he could be in his business dealings; she had heard her father speak of it many times.  Her father's business depended a great deal upon Roarke's continued generosity.  If she ruined things, the fallout could be extreme.

Clearing her throat, Sunday said lightly, "I wasn't aware the two of you were acquainted."

Angel's glance flitted back to the insipid blonde and he decided maybe she wasn't so stupid after all.  He felt her intentions shift and knew that she would do anything to appease him.  It was a sensation with which he was well acquainted.  He smiled coldly.  It was a damn good thing Sunday had realized the error of her ways so quickly.  He had already been mentally thumbing through a list of other distributors he would use after leaving her father's company high and dry.

Running one finger sensuously along Buffy's jaw line, Angel mused, "Acquainted ... I guess you could say that.  I've wanted Ionuin for years, but until recently she has kept me at bay."

Shocked, Buffy pulled back far enough to give him a curious look, which the others could not see.  Angel held her gaze for several heartbeats before looking pointedly at Ford.  "It always amazes me," he said, "how intensely stupid some men can be."  His gaze then turned to Lindsey.  It could have frozen ice.

Turning his gaze back to Buffy, Angel gave her a devilish smile.  He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close.  "Mo chroí," he said, his lips brushing her temple, "we should be going if we're going to make it on time."

Buffy was overwhelmed, surrounded by the heat and smell of Angel - of her other half.  It was heady, making her feel slightly drunk.  If he hadn't been holding her so tightly, she would have wobbled.  She knew all too well why women threw themselves at him.  Being held by him was decadent, intoxicating.  It was very tempting to let herself pretend it was real, that he did care.  She remembered his kisses from the night she was stabbed, from the counter of the Hyperion and from Wesley's office floor.  Despite the fact that she knew he was using her, her body ached with hunger for more.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy caught sight of Gunn watching them intently, an expression of barely restrained curiosity on his face.  It jolted her back to reality.  They were playing.  Convincing as it might be, it was all a game.  A game for the benefit of Sunday, Ford and Lindsey.  Buffy took a deep breath and was disheartened to learn that knowing it was a charade did not make it any less enticing.

Gently, Angel turned her in his embrace.  Buffy's eyes locked with Ford's for a split second and what she saw there brought a blush to her cheeks.  His expression was muddled, angry, betrayed, jealous.  She felt vaguely guilty for her seeming betrayal, but given that he was with Cordy and Sunday, it was tempered measurably.  Lindsey's expression, on the other hand, was neutral, shuttered.  He had played poker with Angel before and lived to tell the tale.

Nodding his head, Angel sneered, "Ladies," his tone of voice making it evident he felt they were anything but.  With a firm hand against the small of her back, he steered Buffy to the door.  Groo held the door, staring openly as the boss escorted Buffy into the waiting limo.

Buffy scooted across the plush leather seat, making room for Angel.  The door shut and Angel barked a terse order to the driver before rolling up the dividing window.  The car quickly pulled away from the curb.  Buffy took the brief opportunity to try and think of something to say.  Did she laugh? Did she say 'thank you'?  Did she bolt out the other side of the limo and embrace road rash rather than another broken heart?

Her dilemma was moot when Angel clearly ignored the generous amount of space she had left for him, wrapped his hands around her waist and dragged her across his lap.  Buffy's breath caught in her throat and she met his gaze.  Their faces were centimeters apart.  She could feel his warm breath puffing against her skin.

She took a deep breath and licked her lips before saying breathlessly in their language, "Thanks for playing along back there."

Angel did not look happy.  "What makes you think I was playing?" he asked.

Buffy let out a snort at the absurdity of his question, but the sound died as his expression became painfully serious.  Emboldened, she asked, "Does Ionuin really mean beloved?"

His frown intensified.  "I've called you that for years," he said, "and you've never asked Jenny what it means?"

Giving him a helpless look, Buffy replied, "I assumed it wasn't very nice."

Angel's lips pursed together in apparent displeasure.  "It means beloved," he said, his voice sounding strangely hoarse.

Buffy looked at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle him out.  It was no use.  She had no idea what his motivations were.  "What does mo chroí mean?"

He stared at her, his gaze wandering over her face, settling on her pouting, pink lips.  "It means my heart," he said in a near whisper.  Lifting his hand, he traced his fingertips over her cheekbone, her jaw.  Buffy's eyes fluttered shut.  She was tired of thinking, tired of being conflicted.   Angel was here, now.  He was warm and strong and at the moment she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him - to feel wanted.  His lips brushed against hers and she did not think of denying him.  She yielded softly and completely, relaxing into his embrace, parting her lips as he coaxed.

Angel touched her carefully, holding himself in check.  After several long minutes, he pulled back and looked into her eyes.  His expression was hard, angry.  "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.  "I've had people out scouring the city for you."

Buffy was quiet for a long moment.  "I spent the night with my parents," she replied defiantly.

His expression was incredulous.  "Your parents?" he repeated.  "You've barely talked to them in months.  Why would you go running to them?"  Angry, he dragged a hand through his hair, trying to calm down.  "You took off before I could talk to you.  Then Willow said you didn't come home until dawn and then left very upset.  What happened?"

She stared at him blankly for a heartbeat.  "What do you mean 'what happened'?" she countered just as angrily.  She smacked him on the chest.  "You were there!  You know exactly what happened.  One minute you can't wait to get me naked and the next you're all This-Is-Just-Business Guy!"

"Buffy - " he started, only to be cut off.

"No!" she continued, undaunted.  "Look, I know I may not be as worldly and jaded as most of your lovers, but I think I deserve a little more than 'fix your hair' and 'go beat up Merle' from you."

"Ionuin - "

"And I know that I've never had an office romance before, but I think some common decency should play into it somewhere.  You could have at least told me 'by the way, Buffy, don't feel special, I sleep with every woman who works for me'.  At least then Faith wouldn't have blindsided me."

Angel placed a finger over her lips, stilling her words.  "Faith said something to you?" he asked, his voice low and deadly.

Slowly, Buffy nodded.  Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she pulled his finger from her lips.  "Was she your lover?"

Lips pursing into a thin line, Angel watched her carefully.  Honesty had never been one of his strong points, but he couldn't ignore his bond with Buffy.  If he lied to her, she would know.  "For a very brief period of time many, many months ago ... yes."

Even though Buffy thought she was prepared for the admission, his words still stung.  She cleared her throat.  "And Willow?"

"Yes," he replied tightly.

Buffy stared at him, trying to mask her hurt and failing pitifully.  Angel's hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.  "What did Faith tell you?" he asked quietly.

Buffy looked away, watching the headlights of passing cars, dimmed by the limo's tinted windows.  Angel's touch became more persistent and she sighed.  "She said not to feel special because you mess around with everyone," Buffy admitted.

"Really?" Angel murmured, his voice clearly conveying his lack of pleasure.  "And did you talk to Willow too?" he asked.

Nodding, Buffy said, "She admitted she had a thing with you."

"Did Willow say anything else?" he pressed.

Buffy shrugged, unable to meet his gaze.  "Willow said that Faith told me that stuff just to hurt me.  She said that you got around, but that you're ...  _different_  ... with me.  Whatever that means."

Somewhat mollified, Angel said, "So let me get this straight, you decided to take the word of a girl that you know to be unstable over the word of your best friend?  And you did all of this without even mentioning anything to me."

Buffy looked at him uncomfortably.  "Well, when you put it like that ... " she huffed.  "But I don't really see how this is all my fault.  I mean, you kicked me out of the office, gave me an assignment and then took off on a business trip.  What was I supposed to do?"

Angel frowned at her.  "You were supposed to take your phone with you," he said dryly.  "You were supposed to check in with Wesley.  And if you had reservations about us, you were supposed to talk to me.  Not Willow.  Certainly not Faith."

Buffy stared at him.  Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, but he knew that her anger was somewhat placated.  She just wanted to pretend she was still seething mad at him.  She wanted him to grovel.  Angel had to exert a good deal of effort to keep from smiling.  Groveling was such a small price to pay to keep Buffy.

He took a deep breath.  "Aren't you even curious as to why I left in such a hurry?"

She nodded slowly.

Angel gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  "I was abrupt with you in Wesley's office," he admitted reluctantly.  "I handled it badly.  Things between us are ... complicated.  I had a lot on my mind.  I didn't intend for it to get that out of control.  There was something I needed to take care of first."

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed something.  He handed it to her.  More confused than ever, Buffy took the proffered object.  It was a small, black velvet box, like the kind you would get from a jeweler, though it had no name.  It looked old.  The velvet was worn in places.

Slowly, she opened the box.  Her breath caught.  There, nestled amid the black velvet, was a shining silver Claddagh ring.  Buffy couldn't breathe.  Her vision shot to Angel, searching his face.

He seemed somewhat sheepish, uncomfortable.  "That was my business trip," he explained gruffly.  "It belonged to my great-grandmother.  It's been sitting in a safety deposit box in New York for more than a decade."

[End Chapter 15]


	17. Chapter 17

Hours later, Angel sat alone in his study, staring at the Da Vinci.  The half-empty snifter of brandy sat on the small end table because his hands were shaking too badly to hold it.

It was done - sort of.

He growled under his breath.  It was extremely draining fighting himself every step of the way.  No matter how hard he tried to tamp it down, the part of him that saw Buffy as a threat was still there.  It was telling him to destroy her, to push her away.  But he couldn't.  He wouldn't.  The man in him had been supplanted by the Darkness in every arena but this.  He could not abandon Buffy.  He could not allow her to think that he didn't care, that she was just another of the nameless, faceless women who paraded through his life.

He could be strong in everything but this.  He could isolate himself, feign indifference to his loved ones, deny the pain they caused him - except where Buffy was concerned.  Preservation instinct or not, he could not deny himself her.  He wouldn't.  No cost was too much to pay for even a moment's happiness with her.  Even if it meant losing himself.

He threaded his fingers together, willing his hands to stop shaking.  There was no way this could end well, but even sensing the impending doom, he could not stop himself.  Buffy would be his.

*****

"Gahhhhh!"

Buffy reached over and flicked on the lamp, illuminating the open commons area of their loft apartment with diffuse light.  "I'm sorry, Wills," she said quickly.

Willow stood in the middle of the kitchen area wearing a pair of bright pink boxer shorts and a baby tee that said "speak no evil".  Her hand was clasped over her heart and she was white as a sheet.

"I, uh, didn't mean to scare you," Buffy added guiltily.

"It's okay," Willow said, taking a deep breath.  "I just wasn't expecting you to be here.  In the dark.  Here."  She frowned at her roommate.  "Buffy, why are you here?" she asked.  "Not that I'm complaining," she added quickly.  "I'm not.  Complaining. I just ... when you left, I sorta thought it was for good.  And you've been gone two days."

Buffy opened her mouth and then shut it again.  "I'm sorry," she said softly.  "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did.  It was completely out of line."

Willow padded softly into the living room area and sat down on the couch next to Buffy.  "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Buffy said seriously.

"Did something happen?" Willow asked tentatively.

"I, uh ... "  Buffy held out her hand and opened her palm.  The silver Claddagh shined in the dim light.  "I think Angel just asked me to marry him," she said tightly.

Willow blinked owlishly.  "You think he asked you to marry him?" she repeated.

Buffy shrugged, drawing her hand back, curling her fist and the ring against her stomach.  "It's a Claddagh," she said.  "They're Irish wedding bands.  Jenny and Angel's mother was an Irish gypsy.  This ring has been in his family for generations."

"And he just gave it to you?"

Buffy nodded.

"Without saying anything?"

"He's not exactly Joe-here's-what-I'm-thinking," Buffy said, frowning, "but this was cryptic, even for him."

*****

"Rough night?" Gunn asked, eyeing Buffy suspiciously as she dragged herself through the Hyperion's doors early the next morning.  She looked like hell, not having slept the previous night.  She finally gave up on trying to rest and dragged herself to work, far earlier than usual.  All of her emotions were jumbled up so tight she felt like she was going to explode at any moment.

Buffy blushed, frowning.  "Not that it's any of your business," she said, "but I didn't sleep well."

"Uh huh," Gunn said vaguely, looking her over as if he expected to find a sticker that read "Nailed by Angel" on her forehead or something.

"Nothing happened," Buffy said through clenched teeth.

"Didn't look like nothin' from where I was standin' last night," Gunn countered.  "What exactly do you and the boss got goin' on?"

With a grump, Buffy brushed past him and into the office area behind the check-in desk.  She read through the pending cases on the board, disappointed to find that none of them looked too difficult.  She really needed to lose herself in Slaying right now.  Impatiently she grabbed the work schedule and scanned down the list for her name.  She blinked, trying to concentrate on the list.  She frowned.  It was Monday morning, it should have been correct.  "Is this the new schedule?" she asked Gunn.

"Lorne faxed it over just like he does every Sunday night," Gunn replied speculatively, obviously having already noticed the anomaly.

Turning, Buffy glowered at him.  "Do you know why I'm not on the schedule?" she asked tautly.

He smiled.  "Actually," he said, "I was hoping you could tell me."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy walked over to the check-in desk and picked up the phone.  It took Lorne almost ten rings to answer.  Buffy was too grouchy to feel bad about dragging him out of a sound sleep.  The would-be interrogation was completely useless.  Lorne would only tell her that if she had a problem with the schedule that she had to talk to Angel.  Lorne assured her he was the merely the messenger, and his lust for "Sugar Muffin" aside, he wasn't about to get in the middle of any lover's spat.

Without bothering to say goodbye, Buffy hung up the phone and grabbed her jacket.  She intended to find out exactly what Angel was up to.

*****

She stared at the enormous double doors, swallowing thickly.  The one and only time she had been here was a decade ago.  Somehow, it didn't seem any less ominous now than it had then.  Buffy steeled her resolve.  She didn't know what was up with Angel, but she'd had enough of his erratic behavior and cryptic explanations.  He wasn't going to push her out of a job.  She was going to get to the bottom of this.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and opened the doors to his suite.  The room was dark and she closed the doors behind her.  She stood just inside the threshold, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom.

In a sleep roughened voice, Angel muttered a few words, and a myriad candles burst into life.  Buffy blinked quickly, adjusting to the change in light.  Angel was in bed, propped up on one arm as he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes.  Buffy took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had obviously realized it was her.  She gave a moment's thought to the grim fate that would meet anyone else intruding upon Angel's inner sanctum.

Looking away from him, her eyes scanned the room.  She mentally noted with wry amusement that her perspective had definitely changed in the last ten years.  Like the rest of his home, his bedroom was lavish and elegant.  But unlike the other rooms, every inch of his suite seemed completely him.  It hadn't been sanitized for public viewing.  It was as primal and seductive as Angel himself.

The flickering candlelight glinted off the dark wood and stone with a sensual glow.  The very atmosphere seemed permeated with the memory of private words whispered against sweat drenched skin.  Just as before, the bed was the centerpiece to the room.  The covers bunched around his hips were a dark, blood red.  The carved ebony creatures adorning the bed's posters and canopy still seemed ominous, though for a reason completely different than the last time she had looked upon them.  Their twisted little faces seemed filled with a wicked knowledge that made Buffy's stomach clench in a tight knot.  The bed had belonged to the Borgia family centuries ago.  Buffy heard Jenny mention that to her father.  Rumor was that you had to pay for it with your soul, but that it was worth it.  Buffy swallowed thickly.  Looking at Angel and the bed, she believed it was worth it.

Angel, stared at her, a sly grin on his face.  Ten years ago, he had been in that bed dying, now he was the picture of virility.  She watched the light play over his bare flesh and reminded herself that she was angry with him.  Very angry.  It didn't do much good.  All she wanted to do was climb underneath those covers.

Buffy ventured closer until she was standing at the side of his bed.  It had to be a sin to look that good thirty seconds after waking up.  But then again, Buffy had no doubt that everything Angel did was a sin.  He would probably be the first to agree.

His gaze flicked to her hand and when he saw the ring on her finger, a smile of absolute satisfaction stole over his features.  He raised his hand, holding it out in invitation.

Buffy took a deep breath, looking down at him.  His chest was bare, sculpted, and begging to be licked.  The sheet was pooled around his lean hips and she knew that he was naked underneath.  This man was temptation incarnate.  She willed her heart to stop pounding in her ears.  "S _tep into my parlor, said the spider to the fly_ ," Buffy quoted, meeting his gaze.

Angel frowned, dropping his hand.  "The ignorant little fly was wooed to her death with flattery and lies," Angel said bluntly.  "You know what's going on here, Buffy. "

Buffy lifted her hand, looking at the ring.  "Actually, I don't," she said.  "I want a little clarification.  You just gave me this ring and dumped me out of the limo without a word."

He glowered.  In his opinion, his actions had been exponentially more suave than she was insinuating.  "You know what that ring is," he replied tersely.  "It's a Claddagh.  The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty... and the heart... "  He almost growled.  "You know!" he snapped.  His face scrunched up in a scowl that Buffy found oddly adorable.  "Wear it with the heart pointing towards you," he instructed haughtily.  "It means you belong to _me_."

Buffy did indeed know that much.  She had intentionally donned the ring with the heart facing inwards.  But she still wanted to hear him say it.  Obviously, he wasn't going to.  Typical.  Her mouth was dry, her voice catching as she spoke.  "Belong to you?  I thought you didn't want me as a lover," she said, much more petulantly than she would have liked.

He smiled wickedly.  "I've always wanted you in that way, Ionuin," he said, his expression filled with unrestrained carnal appreciation.  "What I meant was that I want more than your body, tempting as it may be."

Buffy swallowed harshly, her gaze meeting the glittering depths of his eyes.  She realized for the first time that, as much as it irritated her that he was able to see through her, she had the same ability to see through him.  She had no doubt that if she were any other woman that Angel would have fed her lines, impressed her with his wealth and status, let her think that he was madly in love with her.  But he had done none of those things.  He had opted, instead, for a near brutal honesty.  And damn him if his honesty wasn't even more tempting than his lies.  Angel was a lot of things, but forthright was not one of them.  The fact that he had laid the situation so bare was a kind of aphrodisiac all its own.

He didn't want to want her.  That much was obvious.  What was also obvious was despite his formidable willpower, he couldn't stop himself.  Buffy took pride in that.  Angel hadn't mentioned love.  Buffy doubted he possessed the ability to utter the word.  But she couldn't deny that he did care.  As aloof as he pretended to be, she had seen his tenderness, his hunger.  She knew his devotion to her went far deeper than he was willing to admit.

Buffy's willingness to consider his proposal was based entirely on the fact that she did love him, faults and all.  He was her other half and nothing could ever change that.  He had already proven that he could deal with her Slayerness, that he reveled in it.  Funny how the world worked; the man she swore to avoid was now the only one she wanted.

Buffy twined her fingers through his, allowing him to pull her down onto the bed.  He smiled and cuddled her close, pulling her in for a kiss.  Their lips met and hunger arched her through body, sharp and insistent.  He licked at the seam of her lips and she gladly opened them, tangling her tongue with his.  With the grace of a big cat, he crawled over her body, until they were face to face.  Slowly, so as not to startle her, he lowered his nude body against her clothed form, his hips fitting snugly into the cradle of her own.  Bracing the weight of his upper body on his elbows, he looked seriously into her eyes.

It wasn't like before.  She wanted him; her fingertips hungry for the feel of his skin, her lips hungry for his taste.  But still, it lacked the frantic need of their near coupling on the Hyperion's check-in desk.  Buffy was not afraid, but she shivered, her entire body taut with nerves and need.  Before it had been fun, playful even.  The passion of a fight transmuted into physical lust.  It was a moment in which they both lost themselves.

But there was no blissful haze of ignorance about this moment.  With every touch, Buffy knew what was happening.  There was intent behind his every move, intent to bind her to him, to make her his.  The force of his will was a palpable presence and Buffy felt powerless to fight him.

A saying about possession being nine tenths of the law flitted through her mind.  She groaned, turning her head to the side as she was swamped with doubt.  He caught her chin and coaxed her to look at him.  "What?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "I'm just wondering how many other women have been in this very position," she admitted.

His expression was serious as he regarded her.  "None," he answered flatly.

Buffy snorted, but his expression did not change.  "You can't honestly expect me to believe that," she said.

"I've never lied to you," he replied soberly.  "I've had lots of women.  Dozens of them.  More."

"On second thought - "  Buffy began, trying to change the subject.

He cut her off.  "I've had lovers, Buffy," he said.  "I'm not ashamed of that fact.  But none of them have ever been in a position even remotely resembling yours.  None of them have ever been in this room, much less in this bed.  None of them have ever worn the ring that has been in my family for more than a hundred years.  And trust me when I tell you that I have never asked any of them to be my wife."

"You haven't asked me either," she said defiantly.

His gaze narrowed, but a small smile stole over his features.  "I'm asking," he said, his voice low and throaty.

She swallowed thickly.  "You've never brought any of them here?" she asked, avoiding his question.

His smile deepened, but he allowed her evasion.  He shook his head slowly.  "Not one."

"Why?"

He shrugged, obviously tiring of the subject.  "As soon as I was old enough to survive on my own, I left my father's house.  I went to Asia and tracked down the demon that murdered my mother.  I reclaimed all of the power he stole from her."  He grinned sardonically.  "I took a lot of other power from Vocah as well," he admitted.  "I was still weak from the battle when my father, on the other side of the globe, suffered a fatal heart attack.  At eighteen, I was in charge of the Roarke fortune.  Wesley brought me back here, to this house, to this room.  I was dying."

"I remember," Buffy whispered.

He smiled enigmatically.  "You saved me," he said.  "In this room, in this bed, you saved me."

Her gaze traveled around the room, remembering the moment of which he spoke.

"I would never commit the heresy of bringing another woman here, Buffy," he whispered against her skin.  "This is your room.  Our room.  I've been waiting for you."

Oh gods, there it went again.  Her heart did that lurchy thing as she looked at his serious countenance.  How on earth could somebody admitting so many horrible things be so endearing?  But it was.  The love she felt for him in that moment was nearly overwhelming.  She placed her hand on his cheek and he turned into the embrace, kissing her palm wetly.

She watched him and in that moment knew.  She knew she was going to go through with this and give herself to him completely, heart, mind and soul.  Her voice was hesitant as she spoke.  "Why do you want to marry me?"

He looked down at her, his expression shuttered before pushing himself into a sitting position.  Buffy rolled over on her side, watching his face.  "I need you," he finally admitted grudgingly.

"But why?" she pressed.

His expression became harder, colder.  She could sense a fine trembling in his form and had the distinct impression that there was some internal war raging.  "I can give you anything," he said sharply.  "With my money and power, you can crush your enemies.  You'll never have to bow to anyone or anything again."

She shook her head sadly.  "I don't want your money or your power," she whispered.  "I've only ever wanted you."

He was unreadable, watching her with dark, glittering eyes.  Buffy opened her arms in invitation and he slowly approached.  She needed him to understand that she would never betray his trust.  She would never hurt him; she didn't possess the capacity to cause him pain.  He wrapped himself around her, his manner tentative like a wounded animal.

"Yes," Buffy said.

Angel looked at her, his expression guarded.  "You'll marry me?"

She nodded.  "Yes."

"Tomorrow," he said dictatorially.

"Is that why you took me off the work schedule?" she asked.

"Yes," he said defiantly.

She knew he was testing her, trying to push the lingering intimacy back to manageable levels.  She had no intention of making things easy for him.  "Saturday," she said.

Angel scowled, but nodded.  Buffy smiled, placing a large, smacking kiss on his lips. He couldn't help but smile in return.  As she extricated herself from his embrace, he frowned.  She giggled unrepentantly.

"Where are you going?" he demanded plaintively.  No doubt he intended to consummate the marriage a little ahead of schedule.

She gave him her 'duh' look.  "Shopping," she said.  "I need a dress."

He rolled his eyes.

Expectantly, Buffy held out her hand.  He arched an eyebrow at her.  "You don't really think I can afford Vera Wang on my salary, do you?" she asked.

[End Chapter 16]


	18. Chapter 18

Willow was looking at Gunn, her brow furrowed, as Buffy pushed through the Hyperion's doors again.  "What do you mean I'm not on the schedule?" she asked.

"You're needed elsewhere," Buffy offered with a grin, bounding down the stairs and into the lobby.

Willow turned, smiling at her roommate, thrilled Buffy seemed to be in much improved spirits.  Still, she arched an eyebrow warily.  "Doing what?" she asked.

"Shopping," Buffy said.  "We both need something to wear on Saturday.  Not to mention invitations and a caterer," she trailed off, making a mental list.  "And a location ... how the hell am I supposed to get all of this organized?"

"Wear?  Invitations?  Did what I think happened happen?"

Buffy smiled.  "I don't know.  What do you think happened?"

"Don't mess with me," Willow said with mock severity.  "I can turn you into a rat.  Now are you and Roarke getting married?"

Buffy's grin was blinding.  "Saturday," she said.

"Woah!" Gunn exclaimed.  "Back that up.  You and the boss are  _what_?"

In tandem, Buffy and Willow gave him duh face.  "Getting married," Willow said seriously.

"Married?" he squeaked.  "I just found out you two were messing around and now you're getting married?"

"Obviously," Willow said tersely, "you're blind.  They've been falling over each other for months."

Buffy sighed loudly, becoming overwhelmed by the mental inventory of tasks that had to be completed.  Willow stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  "You have Roarke's plastic?" she asked.

"I'm sure as hell not paying for this," Buffy scoffed.

"Then we don't have anything to worry about.  First things first.  We need a wedding planner."  Buffy watched as Willow grabbed out a copy of In Style magazine from the waiting area.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked.

"Finding you a wedding planner," Willow said patiently.

"But that magazine is about celebrities," Buffy said, her brow crinkling with a frown.

"Trust me," Willow said, "Roarke can afford it."

*****

"You weren't kidding," Buffy whispered to Willow, who sat next to her on the elegant settee.  Gia (no last name, because, it was Hollywood after all), wedding planner to the stars, was a force of nature.  There was absolutely no doubt that she could easily pull off this wedding in less than a week.  As soon as Gia's assistant ran Angel's credit history, the elite coordinator was in front of the Hyperion with a limo, ready to chauffer Buffy from venue to venue as they arranged the Happiest Day of Your Life (tm).  Buffy was certain it was actually the ninth circle of Hell.

"Are you there?" Angel barked through the cell phone.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy said, turning her attention back to him as she readjusted the phone against her ear.

"So, what do you want?"

"I don't know," Buffy whined, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout that Angel might not be able to see, but could nevertheless hear.  "I've never planned a wedding before!"

Angel sighed in barely contained exasperation.  "What do you mean you don't know?  Buffy, you are one of the girliest girls I have ever seen.  You had every Barbie doll known to man.  You change your clothes at least three times a day.  You were a princess for Halloween.  Every. Single. Year."

"So?" she pouted plaintively.

"So you expect me to believe that you've never thought about what kind of wedding you want?"

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip, debating what to say next.  He was irritated and probably rightly so.  She knew he considered his function in the wedding to be limited to the ring, the question and the 'I do'.  And yes, she had indeed spent countless hours planning her wedding in myriad  ways, vacillating from an enormous cathedral affair with a thousand guests and a thirty-foot white satin train to a private beachside ceremony wearing nothing more than a bikini and a lei.

But in all of her daydreams, amid the ever-changing venue, dress and guest list, at least one thing had been consistent; the groom was always madly professing his love for her.  Listening to Angel's irritated tone, she had no trouble buying the madly part.  But love was another matter entirely.

Buffy sighed and sank back in the beautifully upholstered sofa.  They were at Vera Wang's Beverly Hills bridal boutique inside of Barney's.  She had dreamed of an opportunity like this since she was old enough to read Vogue.  It was right out of Buffy the Prom Queen's wildest imaginings.  Of course, she never dreamed of coming here with the buffer of Angel's money.  Her father was wealthy, but Angel was filthy, stinking rich.  There was a difference to be sure.

Buffy was still chewing on her bottom lip as Angel sighed and said, "Do whatever you want."

"But I don't know what I want," she said in exasperation.

To his credit, he didn't scream.  Or hang up the phone.  "Fine," he said, "what don't you want?"

Buffy thought about it for a moment.  "No church."

He was silent for a moment.  "I really thought that went without saying."

"You asked," she huffed, her frazzled nerves threatening to break entirely under the stress.  What if she planned the wedding and Angel hated it?  What if he thought it was ridiculous?

"You're right, you're right," he placated.  "I'm sorry.  Okay, so first item, no church."

"What about you?" she pressed.  "What don't you want?"

"Shoes," he said seriously.

"Shoes?"

"Yes, shoes.  I'm not wearing any.  Plan whatever wedding you want, but I'm not wearing shoes."

His demand seemed so ridiculous that Buffy laughed.  One laugh turned into a fit of giggles so overwhelming that tears streamed down her cheeks.  When she calmed, Angel said gently, "Simple, Buffy.  Buy a dress, we can get married at the house.  A few guests, some food.  I don't need fanfare.  I just need you."

Buffy's heart caught in her throat.  Angel said he needed her again.  She knew it was probably just a turn of phrase.  He was trying to make her feel better.  But it worked extraordinarily well.  She smiled.  "Okay," she said.

Confident once more, Buffy clicked off the phone and turned her attention back to Willow, Gia and the army of designers and seamstresses.  Angel's money didn't talk, it was more like a Marine Corps drill sergeant.  The second she'd walked in the door, Gia had the entire boutique closed for her private shopping.  But even with the entire staff at her disposal, finding a wedding dress was not easy.  There wasn't enough time to design a gown from scratch, so they would have to modify one of their existing stock.  She found The Dress.  It was beautiful.  It cost more than the car she drove, but Buffy didn't bat an eyelash as the flurry of tape measures and straight pins descended upon her, altering the dress to fit her petite frame.  She looked at herself in the dressing room mirror and fell in love.  She wistfully hoped that maybe Angel would do the same.

The empire waist cream silk played up her cleavage wonderfully and it nearly trailed on the floor.  Of course, a pair of stilettos could take care of that.  But it was sleeveless.  She absolutely could not do sleeveless, not with her scars.  Gloves were right out.  She needed to be able to touch Angel, to feel the physical bond with him.  The army of assistants tried a variety of different sashes and scarves attempting to camouflage the imperfections, but nothing worked.

Oh well, since when had she gone for subtle?  Ignoring the pins poking her and having to bunch the skirts up in her arms to keep them from dragging, Buffy charged headlong out into Barney's proper.  In moments, she found what she was looking for, much to the horror of the watching seamstresses.  Buffy pulled a black leather jacket off the rack and shrugged it on over the dress.  There was a three way mirror, and Buffy took in the sight.  Behind her, the seamstresses looked horrified.  Gia, knowing where her bread was buttered, was much more politic.  Willow smiled openly.  Buffy nodded in approval to her reflection.

She found it befitting her marriage to Angel.  Nothing conventional here.  Satisfied with her outerwear, she was ready to leave.  That was, until a rather stern looking woman her father's age discretely suggested that maybe she needed some ... _intimate apparel_  as well.  Buffy blushed crimson, but accepted the proffered glass of Champaign and merrily made her way to the lingerie section.  She doubted that Angel was going to find the plain, white, cotton underwear that dominated her underwear drawer too appealing. She wasn't about to wear the set she wore that night in Wesley's office.  Angel would think she only owned one pair of underwear.  And it was his wedding night after all.  She might as well be nice.  Flanked by the wedding planner, Willow and two strapping young men carrying all of her purchases, she signed the receipt without bothering to look at the total.

*****

Looking out the window in his private study, Angel watched the workers prepare for tomorrow night's event.  "Well, you and Rupert have two other children," Angel said coldly into the phone, "I suppose it really doesn't matter if you screw things up with Buffy.  You can always get it right next time."

"If we - " Jenny sputtered, her rage evident.  "You heartless - cold - This is all your fault!"

"My fault," Angel repeated with amusement.  "No, definitely not.  I made it clear to Buffy that both you and your husband would be welcome."

"I knew you were a bastard," Jenny ground out, "but I never really thought you would stoop this low."

"I don't really feel that I'm stooping to marry Buffy," he said, deliberately misunderstanding Jenny.

"You know what I mean!" she shouted.  "How can you do this?  Have you no shame at all?  You're condemning that girl - "

"I'm marrying her, Janna, not sending her to prison."

"In the end, it will all be the same," Jenny spat.  "You'll make her miserable.  You'll take every beautiful thing about Buffy and twist it until she isn't even recognizable anymore."

Angel looked down at his shaking hand, clenching it tightly into a fist.  His voice was deadly quiet when he responded.  "You have no idea what it's costing me to do this."

She laughed. "Costing?  That's a good one.  You never do anything that doesn't bring you something."

*****

Angel was sitting at the bar at Caritas, looking through a stack of bank statements and contracts.  While he left the day to day management of the legitimate, human arm of Roarke Industries to a team of professionals, he always checked up on them.  Just because he had distanced himself, preferring to spend his time dealing with the supernatural, didn't mean he was a patsy.  He kept a close eye on his employees and an even closer eye on his money.  He took a sip of the bottled water as he flipped the page, studying the long columns of numbers.

The barstool next to him made a loud noise as it was pulled along the floor.  Angel didn't turn his head as the newest patron took a seat, but he did say offhandedly, "Good evening, Lindsey."

Lindsey flipped open his Zippo and lit a cigarette.  He took a drag, snapping the lighter closed.  "That's still fucking creepy when you do that," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"It's illegal to smoke in here," Angel noted, his attention still largely focused on the statements.

"So arrest me," Lindsey snorted.  He waved at the bartender and ordered a beer.  He looked over at Angel.  "You're really going to go through with this?"

Angel put the statement down and met Lindsey's gaze.  "The wedding's at eight tomorrow.  You're not invited."

Lindsey shook his head.  "You know this can't possibly end well and you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

"Not that it's any of your damn business," Angel said, "but yes."

"I'll bet you didn't even warn her, did you?" Lindsey asked with a smug expression.  "I know you," he said.  "You've taken it upon yourself to decide what is best for her.  I'll bet she has no idea the effect she has on you.  She's blissfully ignorant of the fact that there might be fallout and still ... you're not even going to mention it."

"It's my life," Angel said tightly.

"Yeah, but if you're marrying her, it's sorta hers too, huh?"

Angel smiled and it was a mercenary expression.  "Well, maybe if I die then you and Buffy can start the 'we got fucked over by Roarke' club."

Lindsey frowned.

Angel shrugged.  His expression became more pensive.  When he spoke his voice was gruff.  "Besides, it's not like she won't be taken care of."

Lindsey nodded slowly.  "And I'm sure she's just marrying you for the money," he said sardonically.  "She really struck me as the gold digger type."

Angel didn't answer.  He looked at Lindsey, the closest thing he'd ever had to a true friend.  Angel was well practiced at being alone.  Solitude was a given in his life.  But in this moment, he longed for simple friendship.  "I love her," he said bluntly, waiting for Lindsey to tear into him.

Lindsey was quiet for a very long time.  Slowly, he lifted his glass.  "To the bride and groom," he said sincerely.

*****

Angel stared out in the bright, early morning sunlight, watching workers ready the grounds for the night's event.  He was all too aware of the tiny pinpricks of pain the light caused over his exposed flesh.  This, more than anything, was what had always driven home the fact that he was a creature of darkness.  The light didn't want him, didn't need him.

Irony of ironies that he needed the light.  Because there definitely wasn't anyone on the planet more imbued with lightness than Buffy Summers.  And he did need her.

[End Chapter 17]


	19. Chapter 19

It was just after eight o'clock in the evening and the air was turning cool.  The grounds behind Angel's mansion were lit with a plethora of candles, torches and lanterns.  There was a tent made from opaque, gauzy fabrics that glowed invitingly in the darkness.  Buffy could see the shapes of people moving around in the tent.  They were sitting on pillows, casually sipping some of Angel's exquisite vintages as a superb jazz quartet played softly in the background.  It was a small gathering, only the closest of friends; the Angel Investigations staff, Lorne, a few of Buffy's friends from school and some of Angel's ... well you couldn't call them friends, associates.

With Willow's help, Buffy ensured her long skirts didn't drag on the ground as she made her way to the tent.  Willow was her lone attendant, dressed in a floor length gown of burgundy velvet.  The embroidered bodice had spaghetti straps and Willow was self-consciously covering herself with the matching velvet wrap.  Their eyes met as Willow's hand found the tent flap.  She smiled encouragingly.  "It'll go off without a hitch, I promise," Willow said.

Buffy looked at her blankly.  "There needs to be a hitch, Will, that's the whole point.  Me, Angel, hitching.  There needs to be a hitch."

Willow giggled lightly, beaming at her friend.  "Everything will be fine," she said.

"You're sure?" Buffy asked, absolutely unconvinced.

"Positive."

The two friends clasped hands tightly one last time before Willow turned back to the tent flap.  She peeked inside and quickly pulled her head back, stepping aside.  Buffy looked at her quizzically until her father exited the tent.  Willow looked from Giles to Buffy and then back again.

"I'll be ... uh ... over there ... uh ... being over there," Willow said before conspicuously leaving Buffy and her father alone.

Buffy looked up at her father, her lips pursed together tightly.  "I didn't think you were coming," she said coldly.

"I, uh," Giles stammered.  He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve.  "You're my daughter, Buffy, and I love you.  I will always be there for you, no matter what."

Tears stung Buffy's eyes and she blinked quickly, unable to look at him.

"If you would allow me, I would be most honored to walk you down the isle," Giles continued.

Buffy sniffled loudly and then abruptly threw herself into her father's arms.  Giles hugged her gingerly, tears coursing down his own cheeks.  After three days spent agonizing over whether or not to come, in the end, he could not desert his daughter.  Even if his presence meant granting tacit approval to something against which he was steadfastly opposed, Giles had to be there for Buffy. "I wouldn't miss this day for anything," he vowed.

Buffy and Giles waited as Willow entered the tent.  Giles leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his daughter's cheek and then led her inside.  The low murmur of conversation died and the music changed.  Every eye in the tent turned to Buffy who couldn't help but feel nervous.  Her arm was looped securely through her father's and slowly, they made their way toward the platform at the front of the tent.  The platform wasn't high, maybe a foot off the ground but her heart beat faster in her chest.

Buffy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she looked at her husband to be.  Angel stood on the platform, flanked by Lindsey.  But even though she was thrown by Lindsey's presence, Buffy couldn't take her eyes off Angel. He was wearing a pair of black leather pants, no socks, no shoes, a white button up shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a custom tailored black blazer.  He didn't look like he was getting married.  He looked like he should be in some casual photo shoot for GQ Magazine.  She wouldn't have had it any other way.

Buffy's heart was pounding against her chest and her hands were shaking.  All of this was so unreal.  And despite their connection, she couldn't get a bead on Angel's emotions.  When they reached the platform, Giles solemnly placed Buffy's hand in Angel's and stepped back to join Jenny.

Buffy lighted onto the platform where Angel stood, watching him closely.  She got some idea of his emotions when he leaned forward and kissed her deeply.  Buffy was so startled that at first she didn't respond, but as his lips gently coaxed hers, she sighed and kissed him back.

There were a few chuckles from the assembled audience and the Officiant cleared his throat loudly.  They reluctantly broke apart, Buffy blushing as she clutched her bouquet for dear life.  She studiously avoided her parents' gaze.  Angel - not shockingly - didn't look in the least bit repentant.  He appraised her from head to toe, smiling openly at her ensemble.  He lightly fingered the collar of the jacket before taking her hand.  Buffy smiled at him in return, curling her fingers through his.

The ceremony was what Angel requested, short and to the point.  There weren't any flowery declarations of love, but the vows were spoken with vehemence.  Angel gave her a wedding ring that was at least ten karats.  Buffy's jaw nearly hit the floor.  She knew immediately that the plain silver Claddagh would be the ring she wore daily and that the rock was only coming out on special occasions, probably only when Sunday and Cordy were around.  Damn it was sparkly.

Before Buffy could really process what was happening, the ceremony was over and she was once again lost in Angel's kiss.  This time when they broke apart, they were showered with cheers and applause, rose petals and soap bubbles.  Buffy shot a wary glance to Angel, wondering if he would be irritated, but he was smiling with barely contained joy.  Her heart soared.  They signed the marriage certificate, first Buffy, then Angel and watched as it was witnessed by Willow and Lindsey.

Despite her near extortion level fees, it turned out that Gia was worth every penny.  The evening went perfectly as the tent was transformed for a late supper.  The food was divine and the beautiful music coaxed a few people to dance.  Held tightly against Angel's side, half-drunk on Champaign, Buffy watched as Willow took to the floor with Oz.  She couldn't help but smile at the picture they made.  Gunn took the opportunity to cajole Angel's new secretary, Fred, onto the floor as well.  As Wesley took Faith by the hand, Buffy gave a fleeting thought to joining in herself.  One look at Angel dissuaded her.  His eyes were smoldering and he pulled her closer for a long, lingering kiss.  There was nothing in this world that could have persuaded her to move from that spot.

*****

"Come over here for just a second."

"Why?  I don't underst-"  Buffy let out a sharp yelp and a laugh as Angel swept her into his arms and ducked out of the tent.  The party was still going strong, but he wasn't in the mood to play dutiful host.  He'd spent three hours chatting and smiling, all the while wanting nothing more than to be alone with his wife.  He finally reached the breaking point.  There was enough food, drink and music to keep everyone entertained for as long as they wished to linger.  But he was through entertaining.  It was his wedding night and everybody else could just deal with his absence.

Buffy's protests were half-hearted to begin with, but they died completely when he kissed her.  She finally pulled back, breathless, and gifted him with a blinding smile.  Her arms around his neck loosened and she rested her head against his shoulder, letting him take her where he would.

Quickly and quietly, he made his way inside the house and towards the bedroom.  Buffy giggled as he carried her over the threshold.  He kicked the door shut without bothering to lock it.  None of his employees would be stupid enough to disturb them tonight.  Angel couldn't prevent the little tremor of pleasure that coursed through his body at the delighted sound she made.  It was as addictive as Buffy herself.  The idea that he could make her this happy was humbling.  He wanted to make her happy forever and he would fight anything - even himself - to attain that goal.

She didn't notice the barely perceptible trembling in his hands as he carefully stripped off her jacket and deposited her on their bed.  As always, his dark power recoiled from her light, but now more so than ever.  His power whispered inside his skull.   It whispered for him to run, to withdraw from her luminosity, to destroy her if necessary, but at all costs to get away from her.  Angel ignored the persistent, nagging thoughts.  The whispers, the dark instinct had been with him a long time, but so had his need for Buffy.  He knew one thing with startling clarity:  though Buffy might be a threat to his power, Angel would not live without her another day.  The dark power inside him howled and once again, Angel pushed it aside.

She looked up at him from under her lashes, smiling.  She pressed her hand to his cheek.  "What are you thinking?" she asked.

He looked down at her.  She was so damn gorgeous and vulnerable and she was all his.  Emotion swelled inside him, so pure it almost burned.  Gently, he traced her jaw with a fingertip.  "I love you," he said in a near whisper.

Her expression sobered and her eyes shimmered.  She swallowed thickly.  "I love you too," she said, her voice hoarse.

He laughed and then looked away guiltily.  "Most people say that before the wedding," he said, his voice hard with regret.

Her bottom lip trembled and she forced herself to smile and shrug.  "We're not most people," she pointed out.

Once again, he met her eyes, his face hard with determination.  "You're right," he said, "we're not.  But it doesn't mean that you should have to compromise your dreams."

Her smile was blinding.  "I'm not."

He reveled in how much her words warmed his icy heart.  What on earth did he do to deserve her?  He could hear his new father in law's words echoing in his head from long ago.  Sometimes people didn't get things because they deserved them, but rather because they needed them.  And Angel so desperately needed her.  "I will make you happy, Buffy," he vowed.

Her smile deepened, taking on a decidedly carnal feel.  "You already do," she informed him.

Leaning down, Angel caught her lips in a tender kiss.  His lips nipped at hers and he could feel her smile.  Her fingers threaded around his shoulders, urging him down onto the bed with her and he went eagerly.

She scooted over, making room for him as they lay on their sides facing one another.  One of his arms wound around her waist, the other gently threaded through her hair.  Her deftly nimble fingers quickly found the buttons of his shirt and began working them free.  Angel lay still, letting her do as she wished.  Buffy was trembling with anticipation, biting down on her lip as she concentrated on her task.  Preternatural grace failed her utterly as she fought with the simple fastenings.  Her nose scrunched up in a scowl and in a fit of irritation, she grabbed the halves of his shirt and pulled, sending the three remaining buttons careening across the room.  Shocked to stillness by her own actions, Buffy slowly raised her eyes to Angel's.  Though he tried not to, he couldn't help but laugh.  Buffy laughed too.

Smiling indulgently at her, Angel pushed himself into a sitting position and disposed of his blazer and shirt.  Once free of encumbrances, he returned to her side.  The laughter had momentarily lifted the weighty sense of anticipation, but it once again threatened to crush Buffy.  Her stomach was clenched tightly, her heart beating fast against her chest.  Angel gently cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers.  Her trembling hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer and she parted her lips.  A rumble of appreciation formed in his chest and his tongue licked against her lips.

Her tongue met his in a tentative, playful caress.  They toyed with each other, a quick, sensual brush and a retreat, a mischievous nip.  The rumbling in his chest intensified and Buffy couldn't help but think of a great cat, like the one carved on her Nottis stone.

Angel pulled back, placing nipping kisses along her jaw.  He saw her smile and asked between kisses, "What's so amusing?"

Her smile widened.  "Nothing," she said dreamily, curling closer against his body, "just thinking that you remind me of some great cat."

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers burrowing behind her back to find the fastenings of her dress.  "Cat?" he repeated.

"Mmm, hmmm," Buffy nearly purred, rolling over so he could divest her of her clothing.  "Like on my Nottis stone."

Angel chuckled, pulling the zipper down.  "Whatever makes you happy, Ionuin," he whispered.

Buffy rolled onto her back once again and slowly Angel pulled the bodice down until it pooled at her waist.  The strapless, cream silk bra framed her breasts perfectly.  Angel gave her a grin of barely veiled carnal hunger.  The look made her shiver, raising goosebumps all over her skin.

He scooted closer, lying on his side next to her.  His large hand tickled along her ribs.  "Cold?" he asked.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she shook her head.  "No."

Her enthusiasm, her tacit trust hit him like a punch in the chest.  He had done nothing to deserve this, yet here she was, lying in his arms looking up at him with complete faith.  He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and bent his neck to capture her lips.  She met his kiss eagerly, twining her arms around his neck as he levered his body over hers.  Her thighs automatically parted to make a cradle for his hips.

He settled between her thighs.  He was hard, aching for the sweet relief of her flesh.  He didn't want to rush things.  But the best of intentions couldn't prevent instinct.  He couldn't help himself, uncontrollably thrusting against her through layers of clothing.  She broke off the kiss, a breathy whine escaping her as she rolled her head back.  Angel took advantage of the opportunity, burying his face against her neck, carnally assaulting the delicate flesh.  His lips and teeth tasted her, claimed her as he slowly worked his way down her body.  His nose dipped into the sensual valley between her breasts, savoring the feminine perfume of her skin.

Her fingers curled through his hair as he ventured lower, meticulously laving every bit of exposed flesh.  His hands found the material bunched around her waist and he pushed himself back into a kneeling position.  Buffy lay perfectly still as he pulled the dress down her legs, allowing it to fall to the floor in a mass of cream silk.

He stared at her, humbled by the beautiful creature lying in his bed, wearing his ring.  He looked at her undergarments and smiled with pure carnal appreciation.  Her bra was complemented perfectly by the matching thong and garter belt.  Seamed silk stockings encased her legs and feet, which were still in their high heels.  It was possibly the most tempting sight he'd ever witnessed.  He was tempted to fall at her feet and worship her.  Which actually didn't sound like that bad of an idea.

He slid off the bed, kneeling.  Curious, Buffy pushed herself up on her elbows, looking at him.  His hands wrapped around her ankles, fingers sliding smoothly against the silk.  She shuddered at the heat of his touch, her tongue coming out to wet her suddenly dry lips.  Angel's midnight dark eyes followed the path of her tongue.  He swallowed thickly before lowering his mouth to her silk covered toes.  Buffy gasped at the heat of his mouth, wet and humid against her flesh.  She fell back on the bed, her fingers grasping the black, satin sheets.  He teased her toes then licked along her instep before pressing hard kisses to her ankles.  Nimble fingers released her feet from the shoes, allowing them to fall, forgotten, to the floor.

He worked his way up the inside of her leg, crawling onto the bed, over her body, never deviating from task.  His wet, open-mouthed kisses reached the inside of her thigh, where he lingered, licking along her scar.  As he pulled the raised skin between his teeth, he couldn't help but think how close he had come to losing her.  The thought spurred him on.  She was his now, forever.  He would never let her go, never lose her.  He continued his journey upward, pressing his nose to the damp silk covering her sex.

Buffy squirmed against him, her fingers sifting lightly through his hair.  Carefully as possible, he took the material of her thong in his hands.  Buffy gasped as the material tore loudly.  Angel chuckled.  He pushed the loose scraps away, delighting in how the garter belt and stockings framed her body.  He pressed a kiss to the downy hair covering her sex.

She moved restlessly, tightening her grip on his hair and pulling, trying to urge him up her body.  "Want you," she panted.

Angel intended to take things slowly, to torture her endlessly.  But the breathy cry from her lips changed his mind.  Her slunk up her body, positioning himself over her on hands and knees.  He stared down at her, smiling wickedly.

Buffy smiled right back.  Her fingertips traced over his chest, outlining the muscles.  She scraped a dainty, pink fingernail over his nipple and his breath caught in a hiss.  Emboldened, her hands ventured lower, stroking him through the overly tight leather.  Her fingernails scratched along the length of him, delighting in the feel of his hardness.  His eyes screwed shut and she watched the muscles jump in his clenched jaw as she cupped him with one hand while the other popped the button and carefully inched the zipper down.

He let out a yelp as her fingers played over his rigid flesh.  Impatiently, he shoved the pants down his hips until he could push them off.  One foot got stuck and he kicked in irritation.  He growled and Buffy giggled.

Foot free, Angel turned his attention back to Buffy.  Her giggles died at the expression on his face.  He lowered his body over hers and she instinctively cradled his hips against her own.  One of his hands cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing lightly along her cheekbone.

"Forever, Buffy," he whispered.

Her hand came up, covering his.  "Forever."

Eyes locked together, fingers intertwined, Angel slowly pushed his hips forward.  She gasped, biting down on her bottom lip and arching her back as he entered her.  She was more than ready for him, her body primed and trembling.  Her lush wetness surrounded him.  There was discomfort, but not enough to overwhelm the matchless ecstasy of finally joining with her mate.

Angel shuddered, unable to prevent himself from slamming his hips forward, burying himself to the root inside his mate.  Pleasure streaked through him, white hot.  It sang along his nerves, burning away everything but his awareness of Buffy.  She was his love, his life, the center of his world.  She kept him tied to what it meant to be Angel.  Without her everything else was pointless and trivial.

"Angel," she gasped, her hands squeezing his as her legs wrapped around his waist.

He groaned, burying his face against her neck as he slowly withdrew and thrust home once again.  He kissed down her neck, pulling her flesh between his lips and worrying it with his teeth.  In a move driven by mindless male need to assert dominance, he bit down, right where her neck flowed into her shoulder.

Her shout of pleasure/pain echoed loudly and she arched against him, her sheath fluttering around his cock as she reached completion.  He ground his teeth together, barely holding himself in check.  He was still, waiting as her tremors passed before resuming his languid strokes.  She murmured nonsensically, twining her arms around his neck as her legs once again tightened around his waist.

Twining her fingers through his hair, she drew his mouth to hers, biting down on his bottom lip.  She rolled her hips under him, intentionally squeezing him with her internal muscles.  Her heart soared as his breath caught, his strokes becoming more uneven.

"I love you, my angel," she whispered in ShadowTongue.

He was lost.  Her words were so soft that they didn't register with his mind, heading straight for his heart.  He ground against her in three more short, hard thrusts before finding release.

He regained his senses moments later and found himself still buried deeply in Buffy's body, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  Her lips against his temple whispered words of love and acceptance.  He had never felt so right.

*****

Hours later, they were both so sated they couldn't walk if their lives depended on it.  Buffy was fast asleep in Angel's arms.  He watched the porcelain glow of her skin in the dying candlelight, smelled the soft, feminine scent of her skin.  Ever so gently, he twined his fingers through hers, marveling at her perfect, diminutive hand.  It was so small, so flawless.  He knew from experience that she could tear apart a demon with her bare hands, yet he knew he never need fear her.  Though she possessed the power to hurt him, she did not possess the capability.

Her soft little snores made his heart ache with tenderness.  Whatever twist of fate had gifted him this chance, he wasn't going to throw it away.  He wasn't going to play games or hide behind sarcasm and lies.  He loved Buffy and by some miracle, she loved him as well.  He would make it up to her, all of his years of toying and bitterness.  He would do whatever was necessary to reconcile with Janna and Rupert, to make sure that they could be in Buffy's life without conflict.  He would give her the world if she asked because simply by lying in his arms, she gave it to him.

Contented for the first time in his life, Angel lay his head on the pillow.  He spooned around Buffy's back, burying his nose at the nape of her neck.  Determined that tomorrow would herald the beginning of a new life, he drifted into a deep sleep.

*****

He heard her crying long before he saw her.  He fought through the blinding darkness before stumbling through the cold, stone courtyard into the deserted mansion.  She was there, kneeling on the ground, a sword clutched loosely in her hand.  The sound of her cries shredded his heart.  He knew that her heart was broken, possibly her soul as well.  She had been well and truly defeated.

He ventured closer, circling around her in a wide arch.  She was staring ahead blankly, seeing nothing.  Her expression was so bleak, so blank that tears streamed down Angel's cheeks.

And then he knew.

Another her, another him.  A lifetime away and yet exactly the same.  He saw Janna's death, Rupert's torture.  He saw Willow's sacrifice.  Most of all, he saw Buffy's excruciating, solitary, unrelenting pain.

He had done this.  The darkness inside of him had waited for that moment of contentment and then had broken out with purest rage and seething hatred.  The darkness had punished Buffy for every moment of happiness she had given him.  The darkness wanted her sorrow, her pain.  It reveled in her defeat.

And even now, he could feel his own darkness creeping forward, threatening to overtake him.  He could hear the darkness clamoring for Buffy's demise.

*****

Angel woke gasping.  The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced before.  A thousand needling points of pain jangled beneath his flesh.  He stumbled from the bed clutching his chest.  He groped blindly, finding his discarded pants and awkwardly shrugging into them.

It took him too long to find the door.  He had to get out of here.  He had to get away from her before something bad happened.  He couldn't let the moments from his dream come to pass.  He would die before that happened.

He could feel the darkness inside of him churning, revolting.  He couldn't let it hurt Buffy.  He made it to the top of the stairs before his knees buckled.  In a moment of unmitigated fear, he knew he was losing the battle.

"Buffy!"

[End Chapter 18] 


	20. Chapter 20

She woke with a start, searching for something she wasn't even aware had been missing.  The candles had finally burned themselves out, plunging the room into complete darkness.  Rain pounded loudly against the windows and lightning flashed against the sky.  She groped blindly for Angel and found nothing.  His side of the bed was cold.  She was alone.

She slipped from the bed, quickly finding his discarded shirt and wrapping it around her body as she moved to the door.  The hallway lights were off, but the lightning flashes were so numerous that she could clearly see the toppled table and shattered vase at the end of the hall.

Her heart pounded in her throat.  Something was very wrong.  She sprinted down the hall, mindful not to step on the broken vase.  Her breath caught as she reached the top of the huge staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs rested Angel's crumpled form.  She screamed, bolting down the stairs.

*****

"Are you sure we shouldn't call a doctor?" Buffy asked in a whisper.  Her eyes were puffy from crying and she couldn't stop fidgeting.

The shaman moved from where he was kneeling on the floor, rising to his own - rather impressive - height.  He stared down at her, his eyes reflecting more than a little perceived insult.  "Your clumsy human medicine can do nothing for him," he intoned gravely.

"But I don't understand.  I -- "

Giles gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm, pulling her away from the shaman.  He leaned in, saying softly, "His injuries are mystical in origin, Buffy.  The shaman is correct, conventional medicine would be useless at best."

Buffy blinked quickly, wrapping her arms around her middle.  She didn't mean to be disrespectful.  The shaman was very powerful and her father had called in some serious favors in order to persuade the demon to look at Angel.  It was just immensely frustrating that no one seemed to know anything, much less be in a position to help Angel.  It had been hours since she found him and they still knew nothing.

Giles nodded toward the door and Buffy followed him outside and down the hall to Angel's study.  Inside, Wesley, Willow and Jenny were fruitlessly searching ancient texts and internet sites for any possible clues.  Buffy slumped into a chair, pulling her legs up to her chest.  She was still wearing Angel's shirt though Willow had coaxed her into a pair of sweatpants as well.

Scant hours ago, she had been happier than she thought possible.  "How can this be happening?" Buffy asked desolately.

Giles knelt before his daughter, putting his hand on her arm.  "We'll find an answer," he promised.

*****

Buffy was sitting on the bed next to Angel's unconscious form.  She stared blankly at their intertwined fingers, their matching Claddaghs.  She didn't understand.  All of her life she had felt isolated from the rest of humanity.  For the first time in her life, she was wanted and loved.  She had found the only other soul on this planet who understood her.  To experience that sense of oneness and then to have it all ripped away was the purest form of torture.  Surely the universe couldn't be this unjust.

"I, uh, heard what happened."

Swiveling around, Buffy faced the doorway.  She wiped away her tears self-consciously, not wanting Lindsey to see her like this.  "What do you want?" she asked, her voice hoarse.  She was aware that he and Angel had reconciled, but she had never gotten around to discussing the specifics.  And she still didn't completely trust Lindsey.

"I want to help," he said seriously.

"And how exactly do you think you can help?" she demanded bitterly.

Lindsey shrugged off her anger.  "I may be able to shed some light on what's going on," he explained.

*****

"I don't like this," Giles stated for the umpteenth time.

"Do you have another idea?" Buffy demanded, fighting to maintain composure.  She felt brittle, fragile, like a strong wind could send her shattering into a thousand pieces.  Angel's soul hung in the balance and she had to do anything she could to sway the fight to her side.  She didn't trust Lindsey, but right now, he was their best bet.

Giles' lips pursed together tightly and he fell silent.  Jenny walked up behind him, twining her fingers through his to offer him support.  She knew how worried he was for Buffy, how adamantly opposed he had been to her union with Angel in the first place.  Jenny couldn't help feeling responsible.  It was her doing that Angel was part of this family.  If she hadn't maintained contact with him, Buffy would never have met him and Rupert wouldn't be facing the terrifying thought of losing his beloved daughter.

"We are ready to begin," the shaman announced.

*****

Prophetic dreams were part of the Slayer package, so Buffy understood what was happening.  Real as it might feel, this was not real.  Her body was back in their bedroom, lying next to Angel's.  But as she looked around the room, a room in which she had never before been, she also knew that it was more than just a dream.  And more than that, it wasn't her dream.

Buffy tried the door and found it unlocked.  She stepped outside into a blinding bright day.  She blinked quickly, holding up a hand to block out the sun.  Everything was so bright, washed out like a faded memory.  She could see people in the distance.  There was a small group several yards away standing in a circle.  Closest to her, apart from the others, stood a woman.  Slowly, Buffy ventured closer.

At first Buffy thought it was Jenny, but as she closed in, the woman turned to face her.  Buffy would know those eyes anywhere.  Buffy looked from the woman to the circle of other people.  There were two men, neither of whom Buffy recognized, a girl in her early teens and a little boy.  The men were arguing.  The girl was crying and the little boy just stood there, seemingly oblivious to everything.  Buffy looked at his sad countenance, mindless of the men yelling.  Slowly, the little boy lifted his eyes and looked right into her soul.  Tears immediately rose in Buffy's eyes and she reached out, distressed at finding she could not run to the little boy.

"He's been looking for you."

Turning, Buffy looked at the woman - Angel's mother.  "Why are you here?" Buffy asked, completely confused.  "You were never anything but a curse to them."

The woman smiled gently, reaching out to touch Buffy's cheek.  Her expression was pensive and sad.  "Regardless of what you may believe, I never meant to hurt them," she said.  "I made many mistakes and I've done everything I can to atone for them."

"Like what?"

"I led you to him," she said simply.

Buffy blinked, frowning.  "What are you talking about?"  Turning, Buffy looked back at the little boy again.  He was staring right at her, his huge brown eyes so full of grief and pain.  Her heart ached to go to him.  He needed so much love, so much protection and they both knew he wasn't going to find it.

"When Janna found Rupert," the woman said softly, "it meant that my Angel would find you.  You alone have the power to save him, to understand him, to see through the demon to the man's soul inside."

Turning, Buffy looked into the gypsy's eyes, once again thrown by their resemblance to Angel's.  "I don't know what you mean."

"He is feared," she said.  "And rightfully so.  Even Janna looks at him and sees only the darkness.  But you - you are his other half.  You can see his soul when no one else has the power."

Buffy turned back to the little boy, but the scene had changed.  They were somewhere else, a basement maybe.  It was dark, dank.  She looked up the stairs to the closed door.  "He can come out when he learns some fucking respect!" a man's voice bellowed.  She turned, looking around and saw Angel.  He was just a boy, fifteen, maybe sixteen.  He was too skinny.  Wearing only a pair of dirty jeans, he was huddled on the floor, leaning back against the bare concrete wall.  The side of his face was swollen and blood was dripping on his chest from his split lip.

She walked over to him, crouching in front of him.  He didn't see her.  His eyes welled with tears she knew he would never allow to fall.  She could feel the rage coming off of him, the pain and despair.

"He's been down here for weeks," the gypsy said.  "His father told him he could come up when he agreed to live by his rules."

Buffy snorted, knowing full well that Angel would swallow his own tongue before his pride.  But looking at his dirty, too thin form, she sobered instantly.  It was one thing for a grown man to exhibit that level of obstinacy.  It was quite another for a child to do so.  It spoke volumes to the amount of abuse and mistreatment he must have suffered at his father's hands.  "How long will he stay down here?" she asked.

"Too long," the gypsy replied softly.  "It is in his nature to win at all costs.  Even if that cost means his own destruction.  When he was younger ... " she trailed off, seeming to steel herself.  "When he was younger I could still offer him some comfort, but by this point, he was closed off to everyone, including me."

The scene changed again and Buffy knew exactly where they were.  She had been here before, in this room, at this time.  She looked at Angel lying in the bed, barely breathing.  She could see the dark form coiling tighter and tighter around him like some great snake.  She could taste his death on her tongue.  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she cupped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

The gypsy touched her lightly on the shoulder.  "He was looking for something," she said.  "Always looking for what was missing.  He thought it was vengeance that he needed.  So he took it."

"It's killing him," Buffy whispered.

"I know," she said plainly.  "But you know how this story goes.  All is not lost.  Not yet.  In our darkest hour, we find hope."

As Buffy watched Jenny entered, pulling a little girl behind her.  Buffy's eyes widened as she realized she was looking at herself ten years earlier.  She watched Jenny and Angel argue, listened to the cold rasping of his voice.  Then she watched the little girl venture closer.  She watched herself reach out, watched the dark forces recoil from where she touched Angel.  A white light seemed to spread out from where she had touched her fingers to Angel's forehead.  It radiated through his body, pushing the coiling form back, protecting him.

"You found him," the gypsy said softly.

She shook her head.  "But he's gone again," Buffy said in a soft wail.

The scene darkened and Buffy could no longer see anything.  "No," the gypsy whispered, "for the first time, he is truly here."

[End Chapter 19]


	21. Chapter 21

Angel stared blankly down the dingy alleyway that was neither real nor a dream.  He felt like he had finally removed the blinders for the first time in a lifetime.  He felt alive and alone.  No, not alone.  That wasn't right.  Something was missing, but his former connection to Buffy was stronger than ever.  He could feel her inside his heart, inside his soul.  He was experiencing their connection without interference.

He shook his head sharply, disgusted with himself.  For year upon year, he had allowed himself to be influenced by something so slowly creeping and insidious that he hadn't even noticed the change.  The darkness had preyed upon his disillusionment, his pain, his quest for vengeance.  It had used him as a means to an end.

"You didn't honestly think a mere boy could have defeated Vocah, did you?"

Angel swiveled around and stared at ... himself.  He knew it wasn't him.  Angel was himself, truly himself, for the first time in as long as he could remember.  But the darkness, the demon had taken a form very similar to his own.  The mirror wasn't perfect.  The demon's flesh was a pale, luminous white and its entire eyes were black as coal.  The demon smiled coldly, baring fangs.  This was the creature that had slowly been taking over Angel's life, influencing his actions ... until Buffy.

"Oh yes, little Buffy," the demon cooed.  "I'm going to love watching her die."

Angel bristled.  "You're not getting near her," he snarled.

The demon laughed.  "And who's going to stop me?" it asked with a smirk.  "You?"  It walked around Angel in a wide circle, looking him up and down.  "You don't have the strength to stop me.  For a decade you've hidden behind me, cowering in my shadow while I greatly surpassed your pitiful potential."

Angel stopped himself from flinching, but the demon's words hit home.  Was it right?  Had he allowed this creature to act in his stead because it was easier than facing life himself?

Angel knew with a certainty that sickened him, that the demon's words held more truth than he would like to admit.  He had indeed allowed himself to be subsumed by the demon, trading his pain and helplessness for power.  If it hadn't been for Buffy, Angel never would have pulled out of the spiral.  He would have continued to be drawn deeper into the demon until he was no more.

"This is my life," Angel said, "and I want it back."

The demon's smile was absolutely mirthless.  "I was hoping you'd say that," it snarled before launching himself at Angel.

*****

"Where is he?" Buffy demanded.  "Dammit, help me."

The gypsy's expression was sober.  "I can help you no more," she said softly.  "He is here, but you must find him."

Buffy pursed her lips together in frustration, but turned away and ran up the dingy basement stairs.  She burst through the door at the top and found herself in some dirty, urban landscape.  She ran blindly, searching.

*****

Angel lost his balance and the demon took advantage.  It shoved him into the wall face first.  Angel was dazed and had little time to recover before the demon grabbed him by the nape of the neck and sent him skidding over the grimy, oil-slicked pavement.

He tumbled, rolling until he smacked hard against the far alley wall.  The demon was still unfazed, smiling at him with a patient malevolence that chilled Angel to the bone.  Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea.

*****

Buffy ran until she thought her lungs were going to explode.  Still, no sign of Angel.  She skittered to a halt, her heart pounding in her chest.  She stared up at the night sky, or what passed for the night sky inside of Angel's dreams.

"Dammit, Angel, where are you?" she whispered.  Inside, she knew something was wrong.  She could feel his doubt, his pain.  She needed to find him.

She walked over to the front of one of the buildings in this deserted cityscape.  She leaned back against it and proceeded to slide down the wall until she was huddled on the sidewalk.

Her pout was interrupted by something digging into her hip.  It was hard to wallow in misery when you weren't comfortable.  She pushed herself up on her knees and shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans.  She pulled out the Nottis stone.

Buffy stared at the stone for several seconds.  Had she had it this whole time?  She looked at the carving of the great cat.  Tears pricked at her eyes.   She had to find Angel.  She held the stone in her hand and pressed it over her heart.  Her eyes closed and she concentrated on feeling Angel.

Moments later, she jumped to her feet, swiveled around and took off running.

*****

Angel grimaced as the demon slammed him into the wall.  He could feel ribs crack.  Whether or not they were actually physically breaking, he didn't know, but they hurt like hell and they impeded his ability to move.  The demon snarled, lunging for his neck and Angel managed to twist away.  Unfortunately, he only made it a few steps before he stumbled and fell.

The demon pinned him to the ground, snarling in his face.  "It's too bad that you're going to miss all the things I do to her," he spat.  "You always held me back, always kept me from ever being truly vicious.  No more.  Your sweet little love is going to discover the true meaning of horror at her beloved's hands."

Angel shook his head.  "No!" he bellowed.

*****

As Buffy ran, she felt the stone in her hand getting warmer and warmer.  She ignored it for as long as she could, desperate to reach Angel, but it began to burn and she was forced to stop.  She opened her hand.  The stone glowed a white hot.  It should have been burning through her hand, but it wasn't.  The heat was uncomfortable, but not excruciating.

As she watched, the shape began to writhe and twist.  The great cat's shape grew longer and longer as the little square stone transformed itself into a blade.  The color changed as the transformation completed and Buffy found herself holding a perfect dagger made from the same black rock as the Nottis stone.

"No!" she heard Angel rage.

Buffy quickly rounded the corner and saw Angel pinned to the ground, a snarling dark shape over him.  She didn't have time to think.  The demon was going to kill Angel.

She ran towards them, hurling herself at the dark shape.  She buried the blade in the middle of the demon's back.

It roared, rearing back, reaching out for her with clawed hands.  Buffy could tell the demon had been trying to imitate Angel's form, but to her it looked like a mad caricature.  She would never have been fooled.

She skittered backwards and it followed her, crawling after her, blood dripping from its mouth.  Behind them, Angel managed to get to his feet and ran, grabbing Buffy as he went.  They ran several yards down the alley, well out of the demon's reach.

Angel looked at Buffy, swamped with relief.  He'd honestly thought he'd never see her again.  He pulled her to his chest, mindless of his wounds.  Buffy burrowed against him, crying.

The demon collapsed to the ground, screaming.  A white light shown from its mouth and eyes.  The light grew brighter and brighter until it burned away everything else.

*****

Buffy woke to find Angel staring at her.  The light was a weak pink, signaling the fact that it was just after dawn.  The room was empty, save them.  She scrambled into a sitting position, her hand automatically going out to cup his cheek.  She gasped at the contact, staring at him with wonder.  Where his eyes had always possessed a cold, black, vaguely reptilian feel, they were now a rich, dark mahogany.  His skin beneath her hand was warmer, pinker, not the bleached alabaster she had always known.

Slowly, he covered her hand with his own and tears flowed down her cheeks.  There had always been a connection between them, a bond she couldn't explain, but now that sensation was staggering.  She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.  "What happened?" she asked, her voice full of wonder.

"You found me," he said.

She burst into sobs, wrapping herself around him.  He cuddled her closer, whispering to her in ShadowTongue as he pressed soft kisses to her forehead.  She abruptly pulled out of his embrace, pushing herself into a sitting position, straddling his supine form.  She didn't even bother with the buttons, she just grabbed the halves of his pajama top and pulled.  His chest was flawless, no bruises, no cuts, no broken ribs.

"It wasn't real," he said softly.

She looked at him, her expression hard.  "It was real."

He swallowed thickly, accepting her words.  Slowly, his hand came out to cup her cheek.  "I love you, Buffy."

She leaned forward, kissing him gently.  He didn't want gentle.  He'd come so close to losing her and he needed to reassure himself that she was real, that she was his.  He rolled them both, pinning her underneath him as he kissed her with carnal abandon.

[End Chapter 20]


	22. Chapter 22

The following evening, the  A.I. staff along with Lindsey, Rupert and Jenny were seated around Angel's private study.  Buffy was ensconced on Angel's lap in one of the plush, leather chairs.  She hadn't let go of him since they came back.  She had no intention of ever letting go of him again.  Angel humored her, letting her mother him within certain bounds.  She had wanted him to spend another day in bed and while that definitely held a certain appeal, their family and friends were far too apt to walk in on them at any time.  Plus, Angel needed to get to the bottom of what had happened.

He took a deep breath, looking around the odd assemblage.  "Thank you all for everything you've done," he said.

"We owe ya," Willow said meekly.

"I don't," Lindsey pointed out.  "You owe me now."

Angel smirked at his once-again friend's comment.  "To get to the point," he continued, "I know that Wolfram and Hart had some theories, but what has anyone else come up with?"

"I think I can answer that," Giles offered, rising to his feet.  His expression was contrite as he looked around the room, his vision resting heavily on his daughter and wife.

He took a deep breath. "I have made numerous mistakes and I would like to see if I can remedy them."

Wesley looked at the elder Watcher somewhat nervously.  He arranged his papers so that everyone in the room could easily read them.  "So far," Wesley explained to Buffy and Angel, "we have endeavored to establish a firm timeline of events."

Giles nodded.

"To our knowledge," Wesley said, looking at Jenny, "and perhaps Mrs. Giles could correct us if we are wrong - Roarke's mother was a gypsy imbued with a certain affinity for magicks."

Jenny nodded, strain showing on her attractive features.  She gripped her husband's hand tighter.  "My mother was a magick worker," she confirmed.  "She was natural rather than trained.  She didn't study, it was all inherent power.  But even at that, her power wasn't great.  She was a little fish.  I really don't know why Vocah went out of his way to kill her and take her power."

Wesley nodded, making note of what Jenny had related.  "Roarke apparently had some natural power, as do you, correct?"

Nodding again, Jenny said, "Yes, we are both natural Wiccans, but Angel was always more powerful than me, even as a very small child.  I wasn't around him when he was growing up, so I don't really know how much that power might have matured."

Wesley pushed his glasses up on his nose, looking at Angel.  "So you took this natural talent and tracked down Vocah?"

"I did," Angel agreed.

Buffy's eyes were riveted to him.  Jenny had related the basics of what transpired, but Angel had never before spoken of the specifics.

"Somehow you managed to defeat the demon and consume not only the power that Vocah stole from your mother, but the power that Vocah had stolen from countless Wiccans as well as Vocah's own power?" Wesley asked.

"That's what I thought at the time, yes," Angel confirmed.  "I consumed the power," he said quietly, "and it began to change me."

"Yes," Wesley concurred gravely.  "It changed you, but don't you see?  It damn well should have killed you."

"What?" Buffy pressed, clutching Angel tighter.

"Vocah's powers are demonic powers," Wesley explained.  "They can't be contained within a human body.  The demon would eat away at the human form, body as well as soul, devouring it bit by bit until it superceded the humanity.  Vocah's power would eventually overtake the new host.  He would have a new set of powers in addition to his own."

"Consuming the human soul?" Jenny repeated, horrified.  "But how could Angel withstand it?"

Wesley sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes wearily.  "That part," he said, "I can't figure out."

"Angel was dying."

Everyone turned to Buffy.  Slowly she looked up, meeting their gazes.  Her eyes locked with Jenny's.  "He was dying," she repeated, her gaze shifting to Angel.  "That day Jenny and I first saw you.  You were barely alive."

Angel smiled gently at her, tightening his arms around her.  He was here now, but it didn't stop her irrational fear.

Slowly, Jenny nodded.  She turned to face Wesley.  "She's right," Jenny said, "Angel was dying."

"I should be able to clear some of this up," Giles said.  Everyone turned their attention to him and he straightened.

"First I feel the need to explain myself, to give a reason for my heinous behavior and my violent dislike of Ethan Rayne and my son-in-law."  He looked at Jenny and then at Buffy.  "In my youth I made some serious mistakes with magicks."

Buffy's eyes went wide, as did Jenny's.  Giles and magicks?  It was almost inconceivable.

"I was twenty-one," he continued, "studying history at Oxford and the occult by night. I hated it. The tedious grind of study, the overwhelming pressure of my calling as a Watcher, the expectations of my family. I dropped out, I went to London.  I fell in with the worst crowd that would have me. That is how I met Ethan Rayne. We practiced magicks, small stuff for pleasure or gain. It was all rather harmless until Ethan and I discovered something ...  _bigger_."

Buffy gaped at her father, and Jenny, while more composed, was visibly shocked as well.

Giles smiled a tight, self-loathing smile.  "We learned how to summon demons, how to leech power.  One of us would go into a deep sleep and the others would summon the demon. It was an extraordinary high," he groaned.  "God, we were fools. One of our group lost control. The demon consumed him, took corporeal form. We tried to exorcise the demon from Rodney, but it killed him."  He swallowed thickly.  "No.  _We_  killed him."

He raised his hand, intertwined with Jenny's and gently pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.  He gave Buffy a pleading glance.  "I learned the hard way the downside of tampering with powers beyond our control.  From that day forward, I avoided them as much as possible.  Needless to say I was less than thrilled with my wife's younger brother.  Angel was reckless and power hungry and I knew firsthand how badly that could turn out for him and for the people that cared about him. But my distaste for magicks became somewhat of a personal crusade.  I allowed my prejudice to cloud my judgment.  I required my wife to give up an integral part of her being."  He looked longingly at Jenny.  "Which she did, because she loves me," he said thickly.

He looked across the room at his daughter.  "I did everything in my power to discourage your association with Ford," he said.  "I know Ethan.  I know he's dangerous and I figured his son was more of the same.  But for as much as I feared your involvement with Ford, it didn't come close to the absolute terror I felt at the idea of you being anywhere near Angel."

Tears once again clouded Buffy's vision.  "Why?" she managed to croak.

"Because you are bound to him," Giles said simply.

"Bound?" Angel asked.

"The ShadowTongue," Giles said, "it took me years of researching to discern the reason for your ability to communicate in that manner."

"I'm a Slayer," Buffy said.

Giles and Angel both gave her confused expressions.  "What?" they asked in unison.

"I'm a Slayer," Buffy said.  "I'm sort of halfway between demon and human. Angel is ... er ... was too.  That's why."

Giles frowned and shook his head.  "While I appreciate the fact that you took the time to consider this, I'm afraid you're wrong."

"No I'm not."

"Buffy, if that was why, then it would stand to reason that after Angel woke without Vocah's demonic powers that you would no longer be able to speak to him in ShadowTongue, correct?"

Buffy's brow creased as she considered her father's words.  "I suppose," she admitted reluctantly.

"And you can still speak to Angel in ShadowTongue, correct?"

Buffy frowned.  "Yes," she concurred.

"Your ability to speak in ShadowTongue has nothing to do with your status as a Slayer," Giles said in his best Watcher voice.

"Then what about Faith?" Buffy demanded in a huff.

"What about Faith?" Angel snorted.

Buffy looked at her husband, nonplussed.  "Why can Faith speak ShadowTongue?"

Angel shook his head.  "Ionuin, Faith can't speak ShadowTongue," he said.  "At least not to my knowledge.  Definitely not to me.  Why do you think she can?"

Buffy chewed on her bottom lip, slightly embarrassed.  "I just thought ... "

"You thought?" Angel prompted.

"Yeah, okay, so it was a hunch and apparently it was wrong."

Angel pulled Buffy more tightly against himself.  She was still frowning, more embarrassed than anything at her jealous nature where Angel was concerned.  "You need to stop worrying about Faith," he said.

"It's on my list of things to do," she countered wryly.

"I take it you two got something sorted out?" Gunn asked, his irritation obvious.

Buffy looked up, realizing their entire conversation had been in ShadowTongue.  "Uh, yeah," she said tightly.

"Back to my point," Giles said, doing his best to accept the obvious affection between Buffy and Angel, "in my research on ShadowTongue I came to the less than felicitous discovery that it can only be spoken if the two beings are split halves of one whole.  Soulmates.  It took me some time to piece things together, but I realized that Jenny must have taken Buffy with her that morning to see Angel and that his recovery was no doubt related to his bond with Buffy."

"Soulmates?" Jenny asked, looking at Buffy and Angel.

Buffy looked at Angel.  His brow was puckered, obviously uneasy with the new information.  He frowned at Buffy.  "You don't seem shocked."

"I'm not," she countered.  "I already knew you were my other half."

"How?"

"My tattoo," she said.

Angel stared at her for a moment, obviously trying to remember her tattoo.  His mouth twisted into a grin.  He laughed lightly, shaking his head.  "Out of Bind's Compendium, right?" he asked.

"You got it," she said.

"I should have known," he said dryly.

"Yeah, well when you're busy spying on everyone and everything in a hundred mile radius, you have to expect that every now and then something will get by under the radar.  Even if it is just a little tidbit like the fact that  _you have a soulmate_."

He frowned and she smiled at him cheekily.  They turned back to face the group who once again hadn't been able to follow their conversation.

"That's really annoying, ya know," Gunn groused.

"Sorry," Buffy said, contrite.

"Bite me," Angel added with a fake smile.

Seeking to head off a fight, Jenny said, "So when Buffy went to see Angel it somehow ... did what?"

"Vocah's power should have consumed Angel's soul," Giles explained, "except it couldn't.  That morning was the first time Buffy and Angel met.  When they touched, it did something to both of them, it activated their bond if you will.  Vocah's power couldn't consume Angel's soul because Angel's soul belongs to Buffy, with Buffy.  Angel drew upon her strength  - which being a Slayer, is considerable.  It allowed him to hold that power without falling victim to it."

Buffy swallowed thickly, looking around the room.  She didn't want to ask, but she had to.  "So now what?"

"What do you mean?" Wesley asked.

Buffy shifted nervously on Angel's lap.  "Well, now that Vocah is gone, what happens?  Where does that leave Angel?  If most of his power was actually Vocah's, is he going to be left defenseless now?  Are we going to have to worry about old enemies crawling out the woodwork?"

Giles sighed heavily.  "Only time will tell," he said seriously.  "But it's not as if Angel is defenseless.  He is still the head of a very powerful organization, not to mention bound to a Slayer."

*****

Willow smiled cheekily at him.  "It will come in time, grasshoppah," she said.

Angel frowned, reaching for his coat.  It was definitely a turn of events having to apprentice himself to Willow, though he had to admit she was an infinitely more patient teacher than he had been.  Willow had no trouble going over spells again and again until he was satisfied he could perform them flawlessly.  His knowledge was still in tact and it was formidable.  But without the backing of Vocah's near limitless raw power, he was having to learn the fine art of finesse.  It had never and would never be his strong suit.  Three months of training daily and he was still a long way from being proficient.

"Can you please give this to Buffy?" Willow asked, handing him a box.  "It's a few odds and ends she left.  She keeps forgetting to pick it up.  I've had it for months."

"No problem," Angel said, taking the box and heading for the door.  He had to get back to the Hyperion.  Nowadays, he took a much more active role in the day to day operations of Angel Investigations.  He wasn't the only new name on the boards.  Jenny and occasionally Giles worked there as well.  Lindsey hung around so much that Angel was going to start assigning him cases if he didn't find a hobby.  Lindsey would always grouse at the suggestion, but Angel knew him well.  Lindsey wanted to help, he just didn't want to look like he wanted to help.  Maybe he'd team Linds up with Faith ...

*****

"Ooh, it's studious guy," Buffy said with a grin as he pushed through the doors of the Hyperion.

"Yeah," he said wryly, rolling his eyes as he walked behind the counter.  She was sitting on the barstool next to the phone trying to give the appearance that she'd been busy researching.  One look at her bare feet and freshly painted toenails and Angel knew she hadn't been checking up on the Grentor demons like he asked.  He shook his head, shrugging out of his coat.  She hopped off the stool and sauntered over to where he stood.  With no warning, he attacked, reaching out and pulling her against his chest.

Buffy sighed contentedly, snuggling into his embrace.  He tilted her head up and kissed her gently.  Her arms wound around his neck and she pressed her breasts in to his chest in blatant invitation.  He broke off the kiss chuckling.  "We alone?" he asked.

She nodded.

*****

"That's my office!" Wesley yelled, banging on the door.

Faith laughed, taking a break from her mock fisticuffs with Lindsey.  "English, they don't care," she said.

And they didn't.

**THE END**


End file.
